


The Murder of Arthur Wright

by Sarcasticles



Series: Professor Margot Investigates [1]
Category: Daughter of the Lilies (Webcomic)
Genre: Forensic magic, Gen, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-05-09 20:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 60,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14723136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcasticles/pseuds/Sarcasticles
Summary: After recovering from the failed drath summoning Margot is surprised to learn she’s been invited to a conference by esteemed magic theorist Arthur Wright. But what was supposed to be a peek into the future of commercial teleportation soon turns deadly, bringing an end to one of the greatest minds of the age. The police are quick to call it an accident, but Margot and an intrepid detective by the name of Dashiell Cain aren’t so sure.Dark secrets come to light, and Margot is forced to question her own beliefs on justice, society, and even magic itself as she attempts to solve the murder of Arthur Wright.





	1. The Mage's Conference

Margot paused as she entered Benson Hall. She’d scarcely passed through the doorway and the air was already crackling with magic. It swirled around the audience of mages, drawn from display tables and two hundred practitioners. It was almost drowned out by the buzz of conversation as guests waited for the first workshop to begin.  _Almost._ Conferences like this always had the curious and unpleasant side effect of making Margot’s teeth ache and her skin tingle.

She quickly adjusted and began walking down the hallway to the main auditorium. Several display booths piqued her interest, and Margot glanced at her itinerary. She recognized each of the Masters listed, if only by reputation: Anansi, the illusionist who was said to have a thousand faces; Brooks, one of the leading pioneers in the field of summoning; Beltrame, the youngest mage to pass her mastery of earth this century. And of course, keynote speaker Grand Master Arthur Wright, the theorist who vowed to make large-scale Teleportation possible within his lifetime.  

It wasn’t often Margot had time to explore magics outside her specialty, and she reveled in the opportunity. Life had been especially hectic after the sudden resignation of Master Wu. The chaos at the Academy made the distraction especially welcome. Margot could pretend not to notice when other guests averted their gaze as she walked, the few that could stand to look at her staring at the burns that dominated the right side of her face.

She let them stare. Where the scar met healthy flesh itched and pulled taunt, whether from the residual magic or attention Margot couldn’t say, but she resisted the urge to touch it. She would have garnered strange looks regardless of what she looked like as an unchaperoned woman in the heart of elf country, forgoing a hat in favor for a half-shaved head and petticoats for a simple skirt she could actually maneuver in. The burns only made her pitiable as well as scandalous.

“Professor Margot, is that you?”

Margot turned her head, and one of the indistinct blurs on her bad side sprung into focus. She smiled politely as she recognized the elf striding out of the crowd. “Mr. Wright. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Please, call me Felix,” he said. “Mr. Wright is my father, and the one you actually wish to see. Would you allow me the pleasure of walking you to where he’s setting up?”

Felix Wright was a tall, handsome man in his late thirties who dressed in the latest fashions and looked good doing so. Short-cropped curly hair framed an angular face with high cheekbones and brown, mischievous eyes. His smile was winsome and his manner easy-going, a salesman’s charisma oozing from every pore.

He was a mage like his father, but the younger Wright had never attempted his Mastery and likely never would, instead acting as a liaison for his less personable father. Margot had to admit the role suited him. She took his outstretched arm and allowed him to guide her to the auditorium.

“I must give my thanks on behalf of my father. Without your input we wouldn’t be where we are today.”

Margot smiled. “I doubt that. Master Wright already knew what he was doing. I only confirmed a few minor details.”

“Minor details,” Felix scoffed. “Your paper on the integration of magical and scientific properties was what put the old man on the scent in the first place. Father has wanted to use lithium to counteract the thermal runway problem for years, but it’s too volatile under most circumstances. Ah, here we are.”

Felix led Margot through a back entrance of the auditorium. Half a dozen mages scrambled to make last-minute preparations for the upcoming lecture and demonstration, overseen by Grand Master Wright himself.

Arthur Wright wasn’t as tall as his son, nor as well-dressed or exuberant, but there was no doubt he was in complete control of the room. A soft word carried the same weight as a barked order, one look from his hawkish gaze enough to send a lesser man scurrying. He paced up and down the stage with his hands clasped behind his back, peering down his thin-bladed nose as he assessed the progress that was being made, pausing only to polish his spectacles and have a word with one of the organizers of the conference.

While they waited for him to finish, Margot took a moment to study the cause of all the commotion. At the center of the stage stood two massive rings mounted on podiums. Each was five feet in diameter and made of a silvery substance so infused with magic Margot’s eyes smarted just looking at it.

The rings were Master Wright’s magnum opus, living proof of his theories and evidence that commercial Teleportation was more than a pipe dream.

They were also extremely dangerous. The bases they were mounted on were just as much a part of the upcoming demonstration as the rings themselves and the reason Margot had been invited to the prestigious mage’s conference in the first place. She had argued that mages had for too long focused solely on the magical properties of the elements to the exclusion of the scientific. Water, for example, was often used as a focus and medium during experimentation as it was the element of change and fluidity, but exploded violently when in the presence of lithium—the material Master Wright favored over the more-traditional gemstones for its affordability.    

It had been a minor work, a side project for Margot when not busy with other things. No one had been more surprised than her when Master Wright initiated a correspondence that helped him develop the safeguards for his Teleportation device.

“I don’t know why he’s so worried,” Felix said conversationally. “All of the proof of concept tests have gone on swimmingly. Between you and me, I think he gets stage fright.”

“You’re not nervous?” Margot asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“My dear Margot, once my father gets his teeth sunk into something he doesn’t let go until it’s met—no, surpassed!—his lofty expectations,” Felix said. “It’s been twenty-five years since he first developed his theories into something that could actually be tested. This is the culmination of a quarter-century of labor. He should be celebrating, not fretting.”

“I can celebrate after the demonstration,” Master Wright said, approaching his son without as much as a glance at Margot. “Where have you been? And who is this woman?”

“You remember Margot, Father,” Felix said. “The lady professor? From the Kempeston Academy?”

Master Wright stared at Felix blankly. Then he scowled. “Of course. Well, show her around and get her out of here. I have enough going on without the distraction.”

He strode away and began his inspection of the Teleportation device. He pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook tucked into the inside of his suit jacket, thumbing through the pages until he found what he was looking for. Then, reading from the notebook, he whispered a chant that activated a series of runes around the silvery ring. There was a nearly inaudible hum, and the air within the ring shimmered and warped. A small black sphere, small enough to fit in Margot's hand sat on a platform--likely the material that would be Teleported when the time came.

“Forgive him,” Felix said earnestly. “He asked for you to come specifically as his way of thanks. Tell me what you would like to see, and I’ll do my best to accommodate you.”

Margot was silent for a moment. She had little patience for being talked over and ignored. Perhaps Master Wright had wanted her at one point in time, but he didn’t want her here  _now._

“Thank you, but I believe I’ll watch the demonstration from the auditorium,” Margot said. She shook Felix’s hand. “Good day, Mr. Wright.”

She left the sputtering elf and quickly found the backstage exit. In her haste she nearly bowled over a half-orc standing on the other side.

“Pardon me,” Margot said.

“Naw, I should have been watching where I was going,” the orc said, removing his trilby respectfully. “Say, were you coming from back stage—“

He was cut off by a scream. The air on Margot’s arms stood on end with a wild swell of magic. She scarcely had time to think before she grabbed the orc by the arm and pulled him from the doorway.

“Get down!”

An explosion rocked the auditorium. Instinctively Margot threw up a force field as a second explosion followed the first. The mages who had come early ran for the exits as black, noxious smoke billowed from behind the curtain.

There was a second scream, this time for help. Margot dropped her shield and ran behind stage. Mages and organizers pressed at all sides, fleeing the disaster. Where the Teleportation devices had sat was now a black crater. Fire raced up the curtain, the force of the explosion overwhelming the building’s protections.

Margot activated the charms in her skirt, water pooling in her hands. She used it to douse the curtains before writing a series of sigils into the air to seal off the ruined mess of the Teleportation devices.

“How can I help?”

Margot jumped, not realizing that the orc had followed her. “You a mage?”

“Not the kind that’ll be any use here.”

“Then help get people out of here. I have no idea if that thing’s going to blow again.”

The orc nodded, before rushing to the prone figure of Felix Wright. With a grunt he hoisted the elf over his shoulder. Margot covered her mouth and nose from the smoke and scanned for any other injured. There seemed to be little damage aside from the crater and curtain fires, the safeguards containing the explosion remarkably well. The few second’s warning had been enough to prevent anyone else from getting hurt.

Anyone except for the voice who shouted it. Margot walked carefully to a slumped figure that had been thrown from the blast site. The immense heat melted wire-frame glasses, and scorch marks singed a white undershirt black.

Worst of all was the face. Master Wright’s mouth was open slack-jawed in surprised horror, his neck bent at impossible angle. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth, and the smell of burnt flesh almost made Margot gag.

There was no need to check for a pulse, but Margot did anyway, some distant part of her mind not believing what she was seeing—not believing that she was smack-dab in the middle of disaster yet again.

“Professionals are pouring in. It’s time to go.”

Margot turned her head to the half-orc. His hat was nowhere to be found, and neither was Felix Wright. He extended a hand.

“He’s dead,” Margot said blankly.

“Yeah, I know.”

She let him help her up and stumbled away from the stage, her stomach churning. Grand Master Arthur Wright was dead, and all Margot could think was how close she had been to sharing his fate.


	2. Dashiell Cain

Margot was working on her third cup of coffee when she heard the knock on her office door. Two days had passed the disastrous events of the mage’s conference, more than enough time for news of Margot’s involvement to spread like wildfire through the Academy staff when she wanted nothing more to be left alone to work on lesson plans. Margot slid further in her chair and pretended she was invisible.

The knocking persisted, growing in frequency and intensity. Recognizing futility when she heard it, Margot set down her cup with a groan.

“Coming,” Margot called as she got up to answer the door. She expected to see Ford or Hikaru or one of her other colleagues. She didn’t expect to be staring into the chest of the half-orc from the conference.

“Hello,” Margot said after recovering her wits. “May I help you?”

The orc took off his hat. He’d shaved the sides of his head. What was left of his thick, black hair suffered from a severe case of hat head, contrasting with his neatly trimmed chinstrap beard. Two small horn ridges protruded over hazel eyes that were both inquisitive an anxious. Margot noticed with some surprise that his ears were longer than a full-blooded orc, indicating elven ancestry.

He smiled warmly. “Hello, Professor Margot I presume?”

“Yes. It’s good to see you’re doing well. I don’t believe I caught your name earlier.”

“Dashiell Cain, at your service,” the orc said. “May I come in?”

Margot stood firmly perched in her doorway. “May I ask what this is about?”

The smile never wavered, but Margot didn’t miss the way his eyes darted to ensure they were alone. When he spoke it was in a low tone. “’Course. I was just wanting to talk a bit about the other day. It wasn’t the most auspicious of meetings, you know? I’m trying to get my head wrapped around what happened.”

“I don’t see what’s so confusing,” Margot said. “It was an accident—an unfortunate, terrible accident that could have been so much worse if not for the protections Master Wright placed.”

Cain nodded. “Yeah, that’s what the papers say, isn’t it? But don’t you think it’s a little strange that it blew right before the demonstration? They don’t let untested doodads and thingamabobs into big-wig shows.”

“It’s no surprise,” Margot said, crossing her arms. “All you have to look at how the rig was set up. The Teleportation devices needed time to warm up. When I left Master Wright was just starting to activate the first ring, which had been tested on scale models but not in full due to the enormous cost of both magical and physical resources. Initial reports suggest that there was a surge that caused a thermal runaway reaction that escalated into an uncontrolled feedback loop which overwhelmed the ring’s safeguards. Any number of things could have caused the initial surge, but if I had to bet it was some freak reaction with the residual magic from the other displays.”

 The grin spread. “I understood maybe half of that. Any way you can dumb down the lingo for a layman?”

“Device get hot. Device go boom,” Margot said dryly. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s a layman doing at a mage’s conference? It was by invitation only.”

Cain cocked his head. “And I don’t strike you as the type to warrant an invite?”

“Not really.”

“Well you got that much, even if you’re wrong about Master Wright.” Margot stiffened as he reached into his oversized trench coat and pulled out a badge. “Allow me to properly introduce myself: My name is Dashiell Cain, and I’m a private investigator. I have reason to believe Master Wright was murdered.”

* * *

Margot was nursing her coffee and a headache while Cain made himself at home in her office. She made a quick note of his license number for her to validate when she had time before rubbing her temples. She had enough on her plate without strangers waltzing in her life claiming she was part of a murder investigation.

“I suppose I should start from the top,” Cain said while Margot topped off her cup.

“That would be helpful.”

“It’s kind of hard to say when this business started, to be truthful,” Cain admitted, “but if I had to put my finger on the beginning, I’d say it was three years ago. That’s when Mr. Westmacott took his last case.”

“Mr. Conan Westmacott? The detective who foiled the dwarven counterfeiting ring?”

“The very same. I assume you’re familiar with the play they made of that case? That’s where most people have heard of the name,” Cain said. He reached into his pocket. “Do you mind?”

“Is that a beef jerky stick?” Margot said as he pulled out a strip of dried meat.

“I didn’t have time to eat breakfast this morning.”

There wasn’t enough coffee in the world for this, but Margot resolved to find a close approximation. “So you knew Mr. Westmacott?”

“I worked for him,” Cain said, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. “Mostly just running errands and tailing people he wanted tailed, that kind of thing. Greatest detective of the generation, no patience for the banal. Spent most his time bored out his skull for lack of criminal originality, but once a case caught his interest he never failed to see it through. That all stopped three years ago.”

“What happened?” Margot asked.

Cain shrugged. “Don’t know. No one does. Didn’t write much down and kept things close to the chest, if you know what I mean. Said he could keep facts organized better in his head than on paper. I do know it involved Master Wright.”

There was silence as he fished out a second strip of jerky and chewed on it as if it were a cigar. “I’m getting ahead of myself again. Okay, so it goes like this: Master Wright hires Mr. Westmacott for something or other. I don’t know and I know better to ask, and for a solid week and a half the boss is anything but bored. Then one day he asks me to tail this dame. She was a young thing, couldn’t be much older than twenty. At first I think it’s Master Wright’s mistress or something, but the more I think about it the less sense it made. Master Wright didn’t seem the romancing type, and there was no indication he and the wife were on the outs. But that dame, I swear I’ll remember for as long as I live. How many elf ladies do you know who walk around with their hair down, head held high and glaring daggers any time someone looks at ‘em crosswise?”

“Not many,” Margot said.

“Exactly. In any case, the dame doesn’t do anything of particular interest until one day she knocks at the office door, cool as can be, asking if she could speak with Mr. Westmacott. She seemed like the sort who got what she wanted through sheer force of will, and I was young and stupid and a sucker for a pretty face. I let her in, and two days later Mr. Westmacott has retired from the investigation business and packing to move to the countryside.”

“It’s an interesting story, but I fail to see what this has to do with Master Wright’s death,” Margot said.

“I’m getting there,” Cain said. “So Mr. Westmacott jumps out of the picture and I get the chance to move up in the agency. All’s right with the world, then out of the blue we get a letter delivered to the office addressed to Mr. Westmacott. That’s not the unusual part. Lots of people try to get him to come out of retirement for one reason or another. We just forward them onto his new address and let him deal with it, but this time Mr. Westmacott sends it back unopened.”

“So you took the liberty of doing so yourself,” Margot said.

Cain grinned. “What else is an investigator to do? It wasn’t anything bad, just a thank you for helping out with a pickle three years ago. It’s unsigned, and there’s no return address. Look, you can see.”

He reached in yet another pocket and pulled out the document for Margot’s inspection. As he said, it was a simple note of thanks with nothing extraordinary about it at all, save for the lack of signature.

“If Mr. Westmacott didn’t open the letter then he had no way of knowing it was from the case that led to his retirement—if this is even referring to that particular incident. The wording is rather vague,” Margot said.

“Mr. Westmacott was a mage,” Cain said. “He always read his notes before opening them. Was one of his quirks.”

“Still doesn’t mean it has anything to do with Master Wright’s death,” Margot said, returning the letter to him.

“But you have to agree it’s real funny how after three of nothing years Mr. Westmacott gets this letter only for Master Wright to end up dead a couple of days later. What’s more, who do you think I saw at the conference?”

“The elf lady?”

“The elf lady!” Cain exclaimed. “She was walking around like she owned the place, still with her hair down and still with that same fire in her eyes. I was trying to catch her when I ran into you, meaning she was hanging around the stage minutes before it blew.”

Margot sighed and leaned forward on her elbows. “Mr. Cain, if you honestly believe there was some sort of foul play in regards to Master Wright’s death you’re much better served going to the authorities. I can’t help you with this. I’m a professor, not a detective.”

“You think I haven’t?” Dashiell Cain looked intently into Margot’s eyes, his focus never once wavering to her burns. “I was laughed out of the precinct. I didn’t come here for a detective, I came for a mage. You knew Master Wright. Do you honestly believe he’d have showed off his Teleportation rig to the world—risking his life and reputation—if he thought there was even an infinitesimal chance of it failing? You know better than anyone the failsafes he had built into the thing. Hells, you helped _design_ one of them.”

“You know about that?” Margot said, surprised.

“I may look it, but I’m no dummy,” Cain said. “I did my homework before crashing that conference. Master Wright was a genius, but a paranoid one. His son was pushing for him to bring his research public over a year ago to woo potential investors, but Wright senior insisted on more testing. He’s the only mage I’ve ever heard of going beyond the minimum safety requirements for magical research. He didn’t want a prototype, he wanted perfection. Can you look me in the eye and tell me a mage of that caliber is going even _think_ about showing off his life’s work if there’s a chance for it, as you said, to ‘get hot, go boom’?”

Margot couldn’t, and Cain knew it. He returned his hat to his head and got to his feet.

“That’s all I needed to know. Thank you for your time, Professor, but it seems I have work to do.” 


	3. A Conversation in a Hospital

Margot didn’t know what to think of Dashiell Cain, but there was no doubting his sincerity. He shook Margot’s hand, thanked her again for hearing him out and turned to leave. He nearly made it to the door when Margot let out a breath that was nearly a sigh. “Wait.”

Cain stopped.

“What are you going to do now?” Margot asked.

“Well…I hear that Wright junior’s still at the hospital convalescing,” Cain said slowly. “I thought I’d pay him a visit.”

“Not in those clothes you aren’t,” Margot said. Some small voice in the back of her mind was asking why she was doing this. It was a question Margot wasn’t sure she could answer. The story Cain presented was odd, but hardly compelling evidence that Master Wright had been murdered. Poking around where he wasn’t wanted would only upset a grieving family.

At the same time, Margot had doubts. Master Wright had gone out of his way to put every conceivable protection on his Teleportation device only for it to detonate minutes before it was to be displayed to the public. It would be foolish to rule out sabotage.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Cain asked.

“The Wright family are city elves, born and bred,” Margot said. “Do you want them to take you seriously or not?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Do you have a suit?” Margot said. “Something with a waistcoat or jacket?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at her sidelong. “You really think I outta change?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Margot said emphatically. “And leave behind the trench coat.”

Cain had the gall to look wounded. “But…pockets…”

“Master Wright might not have cared, but his son is a dandy if I ever saw one. If you want him to listen to what you have to say, you’ll ditch the coat.”

Cain stuffed a hand into his pockets, pulled out another piece of jerky, and began chewing furiously. An intent look of concentration came across his features. Then he nodded once, sharply, as if coming to a decision.

“All right, we’ll do it your way. But only if you come with me.”

“Oh, no,” Margot said. “You’re not dragging me into this. I’ve already told you, I’m not a detective.”

“Just hear me out. Me showing up dressed to the nines isn’t going to make me seem any more legitimate, trust me. But Wright  _knows_  you.”

“That’s a gross exaggeration, but even assuming it wasn’t, the fact remains I don’t know  _you_ ,” Margot said. “I’m not going to vouch for your credibility as a detective when I haven’t even known you an hour.”

Cain jabbed what was left of his jerky in her direction. “Let me finish before going off making assumptions. You don’t have to do anything except be there. We don’t even have to come in together if you don’t want. The way I figure it, we could both show up saying we want to see how Mr. Wright is doing and let the conversation play out as it may. All you have to do is confirm I was there when the rig blew to smithereens and helped carry his sorry butt away from the blast site. A little goodwill can go a long way, but he’s gotta believe in that goodwill before I can do anything.”

“And what is it you’re trying to get out of visiting Mr. Wright in the hospital?” Margot asked.

Cain grinned a big, dopey grin. “That’s easy. All I’m asking is permission to investigate.”

Margot raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

“As it turns out, people don’t like it when you go snooping around for no good reason,” Cain said. He scratched the back of his head ruefully. “So whaddya say, Professor? This case has been an itch I can’t scratch. Without Wright’s permission there’s nothing else I can do. You help me out here, and I’ll get out of your hair for good.”

Margot traced the edge of her coffee mug with her pointer finger, mulling over his proposition. She wasn’t sure how much stock she put in his story about the elven woman, but she did think that the authorities had been too quick to call Master Wright’s death an accident. What was the worst Mr. Wright could do, tell Cain no? What did Margot have to lose by agreeing?

Her gaze flickered to a pile of unfinished lesson plans before settling back on Cain. “How soon can you get ready?”

* * *

 

Cain was waiting for Margot when she arrived at the hospital, looking smart in a green waistcoat that complemented the tone of his skin and brown pants made of worsted wool. The hideous trench coat was nowhere to be found, and Margot noted approvingly that he had even taken the time to get his shoes shined. At the sight of her he gulped down the rest of a sandwich and dusted the crumbs off of his hands.

“How do I look?”

“Your tie’s crooked,” Margot said, reaching up to adjust the knot.

“You really think it’ll make that much of a difference?” Cain asked.

“I don’t know about difference, but it’ll at least give you a chance.” She gave the tie one, final tug. “Remember, I’m not vouching for you. We happened to meet in the lobby, that’s all.”

“That’s enough. Thanks for giving me a chance, Professor.”

They went to the reception desk and asked for directions. The woman looked from Margot’s burn to Cain’s hulking frame, unsure of what to make of them.

“We’re colleagues of Mr. Wright,” Cain said smoothly. “The professor and I were at the conference when it happened. We’ve come to see how he’s doing and offer our condolences.”

The receptionist’s demeanor shifted at the word ‘professor’, and Margot smiled politely. That was enough. While the receptionist scanned through the list of patient names Cain winked impishly at Margot, barely getting his expression under control before she looked up again.

“Just down the hall and to the left, past the general ward. You can’t miss it.”

Cain tipped his hat and strode in the direction she indicated, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Margot raised an eyebrow at him.

“Did you want me along so you could talk to Mr. Wright, or so you could get through the door?” she said under her breath.

The grin widened. “Yep.”

“You could have just asked,” Margot said.

“I did, and you said yes.”

They reached the door that the receptionist indicated. There was no name listed, and it was well away from the general ward, reserved for those who could afford the luxury of privacy. Cain knocked quietly and settled back to wait.

A moment later the door opened to the confused face of an elvish woman dressed from head to foot in mourning. She was young for an elf, not much older than thirty, with fine, delicate features that gave her the fragile appearance of a porcelain doll. Auburn hair was tied into an elaborate twist and pinned under a black veil that had been pushed away from dark brown eyes. Her black dress was made of paramatta silk and trimmed with black crepe, while a black-gloved hand nervously fingered the jet button at her throat.

Cain quickly removed his hat from his head. “I’m sorry to intrude. My name is Dashiell Cain, and this is Professor Margot…” He looked down at Margot with a small frown, realizing for the first time that he didn’t know her last name.

“Mr. Cain and I happened to meet in the lobby and thought we should come up together,” Margot interjected smoothly. “We were both at the mage’s conference and heard Mr. Wright hadn’t been released from the hospital yet. Is he doing well?”

The woman relaxed. “Oh yes, of course. Felix spoke of highly of your work. Come in, come in. The healers say that he should be able to discharge today.”

“Who is it, Isabella?” Felix Wright’s voice called from within the room.

“A lady and a gentleman from the mage’s conference. They’ve come to see how you’re doing.”

It wasn’t often Margot was called a lady by a member of the upper class and half-wondered if this was the woman was the one Cain had been trailing. She shot him a questioning look that he didn’t notice.

“Professor Margot, what a pleasant surprise,” Felix said. He wore dark spectacles over his eyes, and his face looked like it had been badly sunburned, but was otherwise no worse for wear. “And I see you’ve already met my wife, Isabella.”

Isabella smiled demurely while introductions were made. Cain had gone unusually quiet, so Margot took it upon herself to tell of his heroics after the explosion and their ‘coincidental’ meeting in the lobby. At the end of it Felix got up and shook Cain’s hand.

“My good man, I can’t thank you enough. While it’s true the professor’s quick thinking staved off further disaster, you had no way of knowing that and risked your life for my sake anyway. I am in your debt.”

“I did what anyone else would have done,” Cain said softly.

“Untrue,” Felix said. “I’m told you and Professor Margot here were the first to respond to the crisis. Tell me, are you a mage by trade? I don’t believe I’ve heard your name before.”

“I know some magic, but I wouldn’t call myself a mage,” Cain admitted. “I’m a private investigator out of the Pinkerton Agency, formally Westmacott Investigations.”

“Westmacott…wasn’t that the fellow who foiled the counterfeiting ring?” Felix asked.

“The very same,” Cain said. “And if I’m not mistaken, your father knew him as well. Wonderful man, Mr. Westmacott was. Never stumbled across a case he couldn’t crack.”

Felix’s face went very still. He turned to his wife. “Isabella, darling, why don’t you see how the children are doing. The boys have been particularly rambunctious of late, and I didn’t like the look of that nanny’s face.”

“Of course.”

Isabella hurried from the room, her hand drifting to a small swell of her belly not quite masked by the layers of clothing. Felix waited to speak even after the door latched closed. It was difficult to see where he was looking behind his glasses, but Margot got the impression that he was studying Cain intently, and wasn’t quite sure to make of what he found.

“Am I understanding you correctly if I say that my father was in need of Mr. Westmacott’s services?” he asked finally.

“Not recently, but yes,” Cain said. “I remember him coming in three years ago.”

“Three years? But that…? Never mind,” Felix said.

“You were under the impression Master Wright had made use of Mr. Westmacott’s services more recently?” Cain asked.

“That’s just it, I don’t know,” Felix said irritably. He gestured to some spare chairs before flopping onto his hospital bed. “You might as well sit down and forget I said anything. I was staring right at the thing when it blew, and the flash nearly burned my eyes out. Nearly going blind gives a fellow quite a bit of time to think. I don’t care what they say in schools these days, too much thinking isn’t good for you.”

Cain and Margot settled into the chairs and waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, Cain ventured, “I’m sorry for your loss. Your father was a great man.”

“So I’ve been told,” Felix said. He laced his hands across his stomach and stared at the ceiling. “I still can’t believe it. After all the work we put in, and it was all for nothing. No investor is going to want to touch his research now.”

“Investors?” Margot said.

“My dear Professor, more than anything else my father wanted to see mass Teleportation become a reality in his lifetime. Everything he did was to further his research, and that includes hiring me to help sell it to the public. He would scold me for being sentimental if I let something as trivial as his death stand in the way of that.”

He said the words evenly, the same way one would state a simple fact: Grass is green, the sky blue, and Felix Wright considered potential investors more important than mourning his father’s death. It took all of Margot’s will not to let the disgust show on her face.

“You saw him before it happened,” Felix continued. “It wasn’t like him to be that distracted.”

Cain leaned forward. “How long had he been distracted?”

“Who’s asking,” Felix said, “the detective, or the heroic bystander who happened to be in the right place at the right time?”

“I don’t know what you…”

“Let’s not be coy with one another, Mr. Cain,” Felix said coolly. “You saved my life at that conference. I respect you for that, truly I do, but I don’t believe for one moment that simple altruism brought you came here today. If it’s money you want, you can get out right now, but if you’ve come as a detective—a student of Conan Westmacott, no less—then we can talk.”

Cain leaned back in his chair, resting his hat on his knee. “Most detectives end up getting paid, Mr. Wright. Who’s to say I’m not here for both?”

The answer stunned Felix Wright, and for a moment Margot thought that he was going to throw them both out. Then a slow, oily smile spread across his face and he laughed a sharp, barking laugh.

“You got me there, sir. Yes, I suppose it’s true, most detectives do get paid for their work. I’ll grant you that much. So don’t think my father’s death was an accident?”

“I don’t think anything yet, but I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t worth investigating.”

“Fair enough.” Felix turned to Margot. “And what about you, Professor? Did you truly meet this man by accident today, or do you share his sentiments?”

Margot crossed her arms. “To be honest, I’m not sure what to think.”

Felix nodded. “I agree it sounds preposterous, but that makes it no less true. Mr. Cain, it is my belief that my father was murdered, and it was my sister who killed him. If you can prove this to be true I’ll make sure you’re handsomely rewarded for your efforts.”

“And if my investigation leads to a different conclusion?” Cain said, tilting his head thoughtfully. 

“It won’t,” Felix said, “and I can prove it.”


	4. Felix's Theory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out my tumblr to see some sweet art Meg drew specifically for the chapter https://creative-type.tumblr.com/post/174618362401/the-murder-of-arthur-wright-iv

Proof, as Margot soon found out, was a word that meant very different things to different people. She was used to hearing the term in an academic setting, where it was usually followed up with a preponderance of evidence and a great deal of rational thought. For a trained mage, Felix didn’t seem to look at the world the same way. He sat up in his bed, glancing hesitantly towards the door as he cleared his throat.

“My wife will be back any moment now. This has been a terrible shock for her. I don’t want to upset her any more than she already is considering her…erhm…delicate condition.”

“We understand,” Cain said soothingly.

“I’ve not seen my sister in nearly ten years,” Felix said. “Not since Father had her disowned.”

“Disowned?” Margot said, surprised. “What happened?”

“It would take an age to explain in detail, but needless to say Desdemona was a disgrace to the family. My parents tried to deal with things quietly, but their gentle hand only encouraged more outrageous behavior. It finally came to a head when she ran away from home with all the silver she could carry. My father was well within his rights to cut her off for her family. Myself, I don’t think he went far enough, but of course he didn’t want the scandal.” Felix frowned. “Mother always told her circle of friends that she eloped with an orc. That was embarrassment enough.”

Margot glanced to Cain, but his expression was serine. Felix continued:

“Anyway, the night before the conference there was a special theatrical production put on by the illusionist Anansi. It was a sort of lead in to the workshop he was heading. He performed a large selection of pieces: comedy, dramas, a soliloquy or two, all while showing off the spells he’s developed over the years. The backgrounds were illusions. The costume changes were illusions. The scenes that required more than one actor was all an illusion—I wouldn’t be surprised if someone told me the stage itself was a bloody illusion. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”

Margot nodded thoughtfully. Although she hadn’t had the opportunity to see the production in person, she was familiar with Anansi’s work. The actor was famous for never wearing the same face twice. No one knew how they could manage so many spells simultaneously—or anything else about them for that matter. Anansi itself was a stage name, and no one knew what they looked like. Margot supposed this was part of the charm of the Anansi act. No one knew if they were an elf, human, orc, or dwarf; male or female; young or old. Anansi seemed to take great pride in subverting audience expectations, going out of their way to subvert new rumors when they cropped up.

“It was a bit towards the end that started the trouble,” Felix said. “Anansi said it was a soliloquy from a play that had never been performed, written by an unknown playwright he had found some years back. He called it ‘The Death of Desdemona’ and that *$#@ illusionist performed the piece wearing my sister’s face.”

The memory seemed to perturb him, and Felix had to take a moment to collect himself. Cain leaned back in his chair.

“Is your sister dead?” he asked.

“How am I supposed to know?” Felix snapped. “But I _saw_ her, even if it was just an illusion, and my father did, too. It shook him to the very core. Once the performance finished he demanded an audience with Anansi.”

“Did he?” Cain asked.

“I assume so,” Felix said. “He told me to wait for him back in our rooms and went off by himself. I didn’t see him again until after midnight.”

“And how did he seem…?” Cain’s question was cut off as the door burst open and two young boys hurdled into the room. They jumped onto Felix’s bed and began bombarding him with questions.

“Papa, I’m _bored._ When can we go home?”

“Papa, did you know they have a fountain outside? Nan wouldn’t let me play in it…”

“Papa, that orc has elf ears! Why does that orc have elf ears?”

Isabella and an older elf Margot assumed to be the boys’ nanny entered the room at a much more reasonable pace. Between the two of them they managed to keep the boys from climbing all over their father, gently chiding them for their exuberance.

“Now don’t be forgetting your manners,” the old elf said. “Is that any way to be treating a guest?”

“Sorry,” the boy who enquired about Cain’s ears said. He turned to Cain and bowed clumsily. “My name is John. Who are you, and why do you have elf ears?”

Isabella gasped, but Cain laughed good-naturedly. “My name is Dashiell Cain, but people usually call me Dash.” He shook the boy’s small hand in his comparatively huge one. “And I’ve got elf ears because my grandfather is an elf.”

The second boy went by his brother’s side, brown eyes open impossibly wide. He was shorter than John, but Margot thought they were very close in age. “Your grandfather married an _orc? My_ grandmother says elves should only marry other elves. Wasn’t it sad that your grandfather lived longer than your grandmother?”

“James!” Isabella said sharply, her cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. “I am so sorry, Mr. Cain. My mother-in-law is rather old-fashioned in her thinking. I think it’s wonderful that those who otherwise would have no prospects to find their happiness, wherever that happiness would come from. Just wonderful.”

Margot almost choked on the backhanded insult. For a moment she thought she saw Cain’s smile tightened, but that might have just been her imagination, because it was gone almost as soon as it came. He was content to let the comment pass, and Margot followed his lead.

“Well, actually my grandfather married a human, and then my mother married an orc,” he explained patiently. He shook the second boy’s hand. “So I take it your name is James then?”

“Yes, and me ‘n my brother just turned six years old,” he said matter-of-factly, holding up the corresponding number of fingers.

Cain raised an eyebrow. “Twins?”

“They run in the family,” Isabella said, her hand returning to her stomach. She smile gratefully at Cain. “Thank you for your patience. I’m working on their manners, but boys will be boys.”

“That they will,” Cain said softly. He got to his feet and returned his hat to his head before shaking Felix’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you and your beautiful family, Mr. Wright. I don’t want to impose on any more of your time. Would it be alright if I said I hoped to see you again?”

“Of course,” Felix said, his voice as smooth as butter. “You and Professor Margot are always welcome in my home. I thank you once again. I am in your debt for your assistance.”

It was a clear dismissal, and Margot and Cain left the hospital together. Once they were outside again Margot said, “I’m sorry about that.”

“About what, the boys? Don’t be,” Cain said. He brought his hand to his chest, reaching for something that wasn’t there. He sighed. “I miss my coat.”

“I can’t help you with that,” Margot said.

“It’s a nice coat,” Cain insisted, but he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Ah, well, a promise is a promise. You helped me get in with Wright, so now I’ll get out of your hair. Thanks a bunch, Prof.”

Margot shook her head. “Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Cain cocked his head. “But I thought…”

 Margot jabbed a finger into his chest. “I was supposed to be with Master Wright when that thing blew. If not for a bit of rudeness I’d be just as dead as he is. If there’s any credence to your crack-pot murder theory I want in.” She took a step back and crossed her arms. “Besides, _someone_ has to make sure you stay properly dressed.”

Cain smiled. “You’re adorable when you’re feisty. Come on, I know a great dwarfish place that makes some killer pasta. We can hash out the details over lunch.”

* * *

 

Margot always found dwarfish establishments to be fascinating. With the dwarf homelands so far away, even the establishments that wished to cater exclusively to the dwarf population had to take the existence of so-called big people into account. The restaurant Cain took Margot to had two doors, one big and one small. Once inside, it was easy to tell where they were going to be seated as only a few tables in the back corner were the appropriate height for a human and a half-orc. All the staff were dwarfish, which Margot supposed was a good thing as the entrance to the kitchens was only five foot.

Their waitress greeted Cain by name, white teeth flashing behind a thick, pleated beard when she saw Margot. The waitress winked knowingly.

“Just business, Viola,” he said. “Professor Margot is a consultant for a case.”

“You’re no fun,” she said. “Do you want to see the menu, or do you know what you want?”

“Menus, please.”

They took a few minutes to place their orders. Once Viola was gone Cain took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. “I’m glad you’re staying on. Magic isn’t really my expertise.”

“And what is?” Margot asked.

He shrugged. “Honestly? Most detective stuff is pretty mundane. Cheating spouses, finding a kid that’s run off somewhere, the occasional petty crime that isn’t worth the cop’s time. Big stuff like this, the messy stuff, is pulp fiction nonsense. Mostly.”

“Then why involve yourself]?” Margot asked. “The authorities are convinced it was an accident.”

“Because I’m incorrigibly curious?” Cain said. “Because there were pieces that didn’t fit into the puzzle, and no one else seemed to care? I dunno. It seemed like the thing to do. I’m kind of surprised that I’ve got this far.”

He fell silent, a pensive look crossing his features. “Nine times out of ten…no, ninety-five times out of a hundred the victim has a personal relationship with the one who did them in. But even if Wright junior’s correct about his sister, it’s going to take more than a grudge to tamper with the Teleportation rig. She’d need help.”

“There were plenty of people who didn’t want Master Wright’s research to continue,” Margot said. 

“How do you mean?”

“Thermodynamics and Teleportation aren’t my specialties, so I only know the broad-strokes, but there were people who were worried about the applications of Master Wright’s research,” Margot said. She felt herself slipping into the cadence she used when lecturing, with Cain playing the part of the attentive student. “We’ve known how to Teleport for a long time, but even the best mages can go a few miles without using some sort of amplifier. What Master Wright was trying to do was find a way to Teleport that was energy and cost efficient, something that could be used on a world-wide, commercial scale. Imagine being able to transport goods from the dwarven mountains to the orcish homelands in seconds, or being able to travel to the four corners of the world just like that.” Margot snapped her fingers for emphasis.

“Bad for the shipping business,” Cain said.

“Now imagine a king using this same technology to move his armies before his enemies know they’re at war, or if a terrorist were able to hijack the system, or if a flaw in the rig started a thermal runaway reaction resulting in the deaths of untold innocents.” Margot paused, giving him time to mull it over. “Of course this is all hypothetical, but if there’s anything I’ve learned these last few months it’s ethics is always a generation behind progress.”

Cain let out a low whistle as their food arrived. Viola used a cantrip to lift the plates onto the table and refilled their drinks.

“Are you talking about the explosion at the mage’s conference?” she asked. “We could see the smoke from here. It’s a terrible thing. Father had a lot of hope for Master Wright’s research.”

“Is your father a mage?” Margot asked.

“He dabbles, but he always says it’s wise to stay up to date,” Viola said. “Anything else I can get you?”

Margot shook her head before turning back to Cain. His face had gone ashen. “Your father knew Master Wright?” Cain asked.

“His son, actually," she said cheerfully. "Now enjoy yourselves, I’ll be back after a while with the check.”

Cain stared after her, before rubbing his face with his hands. “I just wanted to eat lunch,” he groaned quietly.

“What’s wrong with you?” Margot said.

“Keep your voice down,” Cain said under his breath. “Viola’s father is Benito Cassetti.”

“I’m not familiar with the name,” Margot said.

“He’s the head of the Cassetti crime family,” Cain said, his lips barely moving as he spoke. “And if anyone in this town had the clout to off Wright, it would be him.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you took me to out to eat at a front for the mob,” Margot said. They had finished their rather awkward lunch and were walking back to the Academy, both deciding it would be best not to talk any more about the case while Viola hovered within earshot.

“They have good spaghetti,” Cain said defensively. “How was I supposed to know Cassetti knows Wright?”

“You keep very interesting company, Dashiell Cain,” Margot said.

“Well, ‘ _know thy enemy’_ and all that.” He ran his fingers through messy hair before returning his hat to its rightful place. “This got a whole lot more complicated.”

“So what’s our next step?” Margot asked.

Cain looked down at her. “Are you sure? I don’t want to get you involved with people like the Cassettis. They’re bad news.”

"And leave you by yourself? That's adorable," Margot laughed. "I already told you, this is personal. It’s going to take a lot more than some mobsters to scare me.”

“Viola beat an aggravated assault rap when she was sixteen years old. These are dangerous people.”

The scars on Margot’s face and shoulder tingled, but she held firm. After everything she’d been through, it would take a whole lot more than a kid with a record to stop her from finding out the truth of Arthur Wright’s death.

“Ah, well if you’re sure…” Cain took a deep breath, his mouth setting into a resolute line. “Do you think you can use your connections to get in with this Anansi character? I think between the two of us you’d have the better shot.”

“I can try.”

“Alright, good. I think I’m going to make myself a nuisance with the coppers, see if I can’t get a more definitive answer as to why Wright’s rig failed. If we know exactly what was tampered with we have a better chance at finding out when and who did the tampering,” Cain said.

“Then we have a plan,” Margot said. “How can I get a hold of you if anything turns up?”

He gave the address of the agency he was working out of. Margot committed it to memory, and the two parted ways. Though it was still early afternoon, Margot felt like it had been a long, tiresome day.

* * *

 

There was something eerie about a school with no students, a sense of emptiness when there ought to have been vitality and youthful exuberance. Away from the busy streets of the city an unnatural hush fell over the campus as if all the life had been smothered out of it. The quiet made for a lonesome feeling as Margot walked through the Academy grounds deep in thought. She passed the auditorium, where an open hole in the wall sat like a gaping wound, scarring the pristine beauty of the campus. The rubble had been cleared away, but with all the fallout surrounding the failed drath summoning there hadn’t been time to even think about repairs.

The office complex was empty, and for a moment Margot just sat at her desk, staring at unfinished lesson plans. She had three new classes to prepare for next term, as several senior instructors had resigned with Grand Master Wu in protest. Another elected for early retirement, while yet another transferred to a sister facility that had yet to integrate drath summoning into their curriculum.

Most of them had been older mages with years of experience behind them. Whether the injection of new blood into the Academy would turn out for good or bad had yet to be seen, but there was no doubt that the next year would be rough on everyone.

She ought to be focusing on her work, but Margot found herself not caring nearly as much as she should.

Her scars ached with an unpleasant pins and needles sensation. Hot and cold, fire and numbness. Margot reached into her desk and found the medicinal ointment she had stored there. Methodically she began applying it to her shoulder and back. She wore more clothes off the shoulder these days—the chaffing of cloth was more bothersome than any looks she got for impropriety.

The familiar ridges of the burn brought back memories of the day she got it. Margot sometimes dreamed of the drath attack…sometimes even when she was awake. She had been doing better lately, but now she saw the crooked neck of Arthur Wright, the grotesque expression of horror on his face. The smell of burnt flesh, whether his or hers Margot couldn’t say.

When Margot put the ointment away, she noted with a sort of detached interest that her hands were shaking. She closed her hands into a fist to make it stop, taking a series of deep, steady breaths to slow her pounding heart.

Then, when she felt like she had herself under some semblance of control, Margot Conjured a pen and began writing. Whether she was ready or not, there was work to be done.


	5. Anansi of a Thousand Faces

The sun was beginning to set as Margot set a brisk pace for the waterfront. Two days had passed since she had last met with Cain, and she was starting to get antsy. It turned out finding someone who could change their appearance at will was more difficult than it sounded. It was unfortunate that in the wake of Master Wright’s death that the mage’s conference had been cancelled—at least then Margot would have some idea of where to start looking. As it was she wasn’t sure Anansi was still in the city.

She stopped in front a small playhouse at the edge of the entertainment district. As far as leads went it wasn’t much, yet it was the best she had. None of her contacts at the Academy knew where Anansi was or where they would be traveling next. There had been no ads of upcoming plays in the paper. The rumor mill surrounding the mysterious actor had gone strangely silent.

Margot had almost given up hope when the professor of illusion made mention of a colleague who knew of a man who had seen a superlative performance given by an unknown actor working out of a little hole in the wall. Supposedly magic had been involved.

It seemed like an absurd story, but Margot was loath to go back to Cain emptyhanded. She was acutely aware that she had wandered to the rougher side of town. The looks she got here were of an entirely different sort than she was used to. The people here could sniff out a stranger faster than a bloodhound and were naturally suspicious of people they didn’t know.

Margot was more worried about keeping a low profile than her personal safety. There was no way of knowing if Anansi was actually inside, but if they were Margot didn’t want to draw attention to herself.

The bill outside of the theater advertised a man named Yotarou. Usually shows advertised any magic that would be a part of the performance, but there was no mention of any illusions. Even so, there was a surprisingly large crowd for a weeknight show. Margot paid the fee and squeezed into the rapidly filling playhouse, which was little more than a glorified bar with a stage at the back of the room. The air was dark and smoky and buzzing with a dozen different conversations. Margot settled near the back as she waited for the show to begin, settling in an empty stool at the end of the bar.

A minute or two passed when Margot noticed a man mustering the courage to approach her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him down his drink in a single gulp, slamming the glass down as he rose to his feet. One of his friends clapped him soundly on the back and gave him a friendly push Margot’s way.

She didn’t have time for this. Margot called on her magic with a twitch of her fingers. There was plenty of water in the air this close to the river, more than enough for her to work with. Margot’s palm warmed pleasantly as coaxed the heat from the microscopic all around her into her hand, taking just enough to send a chill through the air.

At the same time Margot fixed the would-be suitor with an icy glare, making sure he got a good look at her scars. The man stopped dead in his tracks. To his credit he got the message without any further trouble, turning abruptly to walk red-faced to the direction of the restrooms.

“That was nicely done.”

Margot turned to the bartender just as Yotarou took the stage. He kneeled on a pillow at the center of the stage armed with only a paper fan and began a long-winded tale about two parents who decide to give their newborn son twelve first names after being unable to decide on just one.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Margot said.

“Not many have that much control over their magic,” the bartender murmured. “May I get you something to drink?”’

“Not tonight,” Margot said. “I’m just here for the show.”

“Ah, a fan of the fallen words?” he asked. “I don’t blame you. It’s a rare art, not often seen this far west. Do you have a favorite master?”

The question meant nothing to Margot, and she shook her head. “I’m just learning.”

“It’s a wise man who admits their ignorance,” the bartender said. “Or woman, I suppose. Now listen, the best part is coming up.”

Yotarou’s voice rose to a fever-pitch as he reached the climax of his story. The boy with the long name was knocked unconscious after getting into a fight with a friend. The friend rushed off for help, but was forced to use the boy’s full name with everyone he came across, and by the time he came back the boy had completely recovered from the injury.

The story wasn’t suited to Margot’s sense of humor, but Yotarou’s exaggerated caricature elicited a quiet chuckle as the crowd burst into applause. Yotarou bowed to his audience, paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and launched eagerly into his next tale.

“Amateur,” the bartender said, wrinkling their nose in distaste. 

“You didn’t find it funny?” Margot asked.

“Three times he botched the name, and he should have made a greater distinction between the boy and his friend. Each character should be unique.”

Margot turned to face the bartender, but the space he had been occupying was empty, with a single drink sitting on the bar the only indication he had ever been there in the first place. She tried to find where he had gone, but it was as if he had vanished into thin air.

“On the house, darling,” a voice whispered in Margot’s ear. “Enjoy the rest of the show, I’ve seen all I need.”

 _Magic_. Margot searched for its source, but her trace was overwhelmed by the spells used to light the stage and the charms warding against fire and theft. Utterly dumbfounded Margot looked down at the drink he had left her. It was one of those elaborate mixed drinks that Lyra could down by the gallon. She hadn’t even seen him mix it.

_Unless…_

Once again Margot called upon her magic. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard the audience burst into laughter, but she no longer was paying any attention to Yotarou’s stories. She touched the glass with a finger that glowed with soft aquamarine light, stifling a gasp as it passed right through.

It was an illusion, one of the most sophisticated she had ever seen. Carefully she dismissed the spell and touched it again, this time her fingers feeling the contour of the glass, the liquid inside rippling with the sudden movement.

Illusionary magic was difficult because the spells either had to be meticulously planned and continuously maintained by the caster. The more senses that were engaged with by the illusion the more difficult it was to cast and the more energy it required to maintain. Margot picked up the glass and swirled the contents, noting that the drink was for all intents and purposes indistinguishable from reality.

The spell was still active, and an active spell could always be traced back to its caster. Margot murmured the words to a trace under her breath, tracing a sigil over the glass. A golden thread formed around the glass and led to the entrance of the playhouse.

Margot pushed through the crowed and followed the thread outside and down the street. It led her two blocks north, the golden light growing in intensity as she neared the source of the spell. Margot paused when she reached a small diner and scanned the crowd for the bartender. The thread pulsed gently in her hands and then, suddenly, it vanished.

“Very neatly done. I like your style.”

Margot whirled to the voice. Sitting on the patio outside the diner was…not her bartender. A figure dressed in rough-spun cotton beckoned her forward, a lazy grin on his (or was it her? Margot couldn’t tell) face. Their features were unassuming and plain.

But there was no mistaking that voice. Margot sat in the offered chair. “Unless I’m terribly mistaken, do I have the pleasure of speaking with Anansi?”

Black eyes glittered with amusement. “You do.”

“I thought you would be preforming tonight,” Margot said.

“Who says I haven’t been?” Anansi leaned on their elbows. Long, spiderlike fingers intertwined together. “When I heard whispers a professor from the Kempeston Academy wished to speak with me I had to make sure it was worth my time.” Anansi’s lips quirked in the smile of a teacher indulging a favored student. “That spell was clever. I’ve not seen it before.”

“I work at a school for magic. Knowing how to trace a spell is an unfortunate necessity,” Margot said wryly. “How did you know I’m a professor?”

“I make it my business to know who wants to find me, darling. Time is a finite resource; it has never been my habit to waste mine.” The smile transformed into a sharp, biting smirk, amusement shifting to menace. “So far you’ve been interesting enough to be worth my while. Please do not prove me wrong.”

“I had some questions about your performance before the mage’s conference,” Margot said.

“You’ll have to be more specific, darling.”

Margot hesitated a moment, before saying, “I suppose it would be more accurate to say I was wondering about what happened afterword. This might seem like a strange question, but did you speak with Master Arthur Wright?”

Anansi’s eyebrows crept up toward their hairline. “I did not. Why go through all the trouble of finding me only to ask about a man I’ve never met?”

“I’m acquainted with Master Wright’s son. He said that his father wanted to talk with you after your performance.”

“So he sent you to find out what his daddy wanted?” Anansi said disbelievingly.

“Felix Wright was nearly blinded by the explosion. It will be some time before he’s fully recovered,” Margot said, choosing her words carefully. It didn’t seem wise to let Anansi know she was investigating a possible murder. “I said I would ask as a favor to him.”

“That is strangely kind of you,” Anansi said.

“I didn’t realize you would be this difficult to find when I agreed,” Margot admitted.

Anansi laughed. “Fair enough. I’m sorry to say that Felix is wrong. I know Arthur Wright only by reputation,” Anansi consulted a battered pocket watch. “Now, I have no interest speaking about a dead man who I’ve never met, but it seems a shame to leave you with nothing to show for your efforts. I’ll answer three questions, and no more.”

Margot drummed her fingers against the table as she thought. She couldn’t tell if Anansi was lying, or if this was some sort of test. Either way she didn’t want to waste what little opportunity she had.

Her first instinct was simply to ask more about Master Wright, but Margot discarded that idea as foolishness. If Anansi was telling the truth then they likely knew nothing about the murder of Arthur Wright. If they were lying then there was no way they would answer a direct inquiry.

Finally Margot settled on a question. “Whose face did you wear when you preformed  _The Death of Desdemona_?”

“You say it as if I’ve stolen something,” Anansi chuckled. “And the answer is no one in particular. I take inspiration from those around me, but my faces are all my own. The part called for a female, so I created one that I felt would resonate with the audience. It’s trickier than you might think—academia is disproportionately elvish, so one might think that an elf would be best suited for the role, but there are those sticks in the mud who would call it a travesty to let a young elvish lady anywhere near the stage.” Anansi grinned wolfishly. “That was what decided it, in the end. I always enjoy knocking on the door of the closeminded.”

“Really?” Margot said.

“No society is perfect, and there are times people need reminded of that fact,” Anansi said. “I’ve performed in the orcish Lowlands as a runt and the Deephome Mountains as a beardless dwarf.” Anansi shrugged, a picture of worldly wisdom. “It’s a balancing act. I can’t afford to distract too much from the performances or alienate my audience completely lest no one hire me, illusions or no. But the benefit of having a thousand faces means I always have the right mask no matter the situation.”

Margot nodded slowly in understanding. “So to be clear, your character wasn’t physically based on anyone that you know.”

“Nothing is new under the sun, darling,” Anansi said. “I’m sure there were features that resembled people I’ve seen or worked with in the past, but as a whole the character of Desdemona was my own. Next question, please, and be careful as it’s your last.”

“But I’ve only asked one,” Margot said.

“If that was your intention then you ought to be more careful with your diction,” Anansi said. “After I said I enjoy knocking on the door of the closeminded you said, ‘really?’ with the inflection of a question—a question which I answered as promised.”

A flare of anger tore through Margot at the abuse of technicality, but then Anansi rested their chin on a hand and waited patiently, a look of angelic innocence on their face. Margot swallowed her argument, and with enormous effort managed a smile of her own. It was a smile she’d perfected during her post-graduate studies, perfectly civil and with an edge that could kill a man with a single look.

“You’re right. Unfortunately not all of us are destined for the stage,” she said sweetly. “In that case, where would the best way I could get into contact with you if I needed to speak with you again?”

Anansi blinked, a startled expression flashing briefly across their face. Then they laughed, surprisingly rich and full. So full that Margot suspected it was genuine.

“Oh, I  _like_ you,” Anansi said, wiping away a tear of mirth from the corner of their eye. “Well done, darling, well done. Luckily for you I’m planning to stay in the city for another five days. Look for me at the Red Griffin Inn after the noon bell. For a half-penny I’ll tell you whatever story you want to know.”

Anansi got to their feet and shook Margot’s hand warmly. “A final piece of advice, darling, free of charge. Reputation is a man’s greatest and most fragile mask. Look behind it at your own risk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Margot asked.

“It means I would think very carefully before taking on errands for Felix Wright. You might not like what you find.”


	6. A Formal Invitation

“We might not like what we find, huh?”

Margot nodded while Cain chewed methodically strip of jerked beef. They were once again sitting in Margot’s office, this time at Cain’s request. When she asked why they wouldn’t go to the agency where he worked he had been evasive, and Margot got the impression that his colleagues weren’t terribly pleased that he was pursuing this case.

The last thing Margot wanted was to get him into trouble, but there had to be better places to discuss a murder investigation than her workplace.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” Margot said.

“Nah, you did good just finding the guy. It’s not like I’ve had much success myself. My contacts say it could be months before they figure out just what went wrong,” Cain said with a sigh. He reached into the inside of his coat and pulled out several folded over pieces of parchment. “Does this mean anything to you?”

Margot squinted at the lines of squiggly writing. It looked like a copy of something, or perhaps a copy of a copy. The words were nearly impossible to read, as if the ink of the original had bled through and stained the pages behind it.

“This top bit here is an equation…I’m not familiar with it right off hand,” Margot said. “I think there’s a portion missing, but if I’m not mistaken the variables taken from the equation are plugged into the incantation at the bottom to activate a spell.” Margot looked up at Cain suspiciously. “Where did you get this?”

“I got a peek at the notebook Wright had with him with he died, thought it might be helpful to know what was written inside,” Cain said as he put the papers back in his pocket. “I may not be a proper mage, but I know a few tricks.”

“You stole Master Wright’s equations?” Margot said incredulously. Even incomplete, those few pieces of parchment represented years of labor and research. If they fell into the wrong hands…

“I  _copied_  Master Wright’s equations,” Cain corrected. “The originals are being studied by the authorities as we speak, not that they can make head or tail of them. I wouldn’t put it past the old man to have them coded.”

“How did you get permission to copy Master Wright’s work?” Margot asked.

Cain quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t.”

Margot wasn’t sure what to make of that. She understood Cain’s desire to know the exact means that caused Master Wright’s experiment to fail. With that information they could deduce where and when any potential tampering had taken place. But neither she nor Cain actually understood the mechanics of the Teleportation device. Margot’s mind wandered back to the mage’s conference. She had seen Master Wright consult his notebook right before activating the first ring. Having the spellwork—even if they didn’t understand it—could only help as the investigation went forward.

It also smacked of intellectual theft, and Cain’s nonchalance about the whole thing made her uncomfortable.

“Listen, Prof, we can’t afford to always do things by the book,” Cain said. “If you don’t like that I’ll leave and not bother you any more. But we aren’t the cops. We don’t have resources or time to waste. You can take it or leave it, I don’t care which.”

Margot thought hard. She had already committed to helping Cain—she hadn’t been lying when she said she took almost dying by proxy personally. Was she really going to let a few copied sheets of parchment scare her off when career criminals couldn’t?

Besides, loath as she was to admit it, he had a point. Margot let out a breath of air that was nearly a sigh. “You’re going to burn those as soon as we’re finished with this, and I’m going to watch you do it.”

It wasn’t a question, but Cain cocked his head as if it were. “Fair enough. Can I ask why?”

“And risk you or someone you know sell them to the highest bidder?” Margot said. “I think not. Even incomplete those papers are incredibly valuable, and there are…less scrupulous mages who might use Master Wright’s theories for the wrong reasons.”

“Your suspicion wounds me,” Cain said.

“Says the man who stole them in the first place,” Margot retorted. “And even if you don’t do anything intentionally, what if they’re lost or stolen from you? The end result is the same.”

“Alright, I said I’d do it,” Cain said. His crooked smile returned. “You’ve got a cynical streak, don’t you? That’s good. I’ll make a proper detective of you yet.”

“Not likely,” Margot said. “Now on to more pertinent matters, what do you make of Anansi’s warning?”

“It’s curious, that’s for sure,” Cain said. “The whole conversation sounds dodgy enough I might ignore it as misdirection, but Viola said she knows Felix, too. There’s no smoke without fire. It’s a pity I hadn’t been there with you.”

“I can handle myself,” Margot said.

“Never said you couldn’t, but my granddaddy always said four ears were better than two,” Cain said. He pulled yet another strip of jerky from his seemingly inexhaustible supply (hadn’t he just stuck Master Wright’s equations in that same pocket?) and took a bite. “The Red Griffin Inn, huh? I know the place. Wouldn’t hurt to make a visit sometime.”

“Anansi said they’re only going to be there five days,” Margot said.

“Yeah, but we’ve got an engagement tomorrow. It’ll have to wait till after then.”

Margot stared at him blankly. “We do?”

“Sure.” Cain’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait, you didn’t get an invite? I assumed Wright sent one to both of us.”

“Felix invited us to something?” Margot said. After her mystifying meeting with Anansi she hadn’t even thought to check her mail.

“Not Felix, his mother.” Cain fished inside of his coat pocket (which until today Margot would have assumed had no room for anything but jerky strips) and pulled out a stiff piece of paper for her inspection. Margot’s attention was first drawn to the heavy black boarder blazoned with skeletons and other morbid imagery, the phrase  _momento mori_  written in an elegant script across the top. Frowning, she read the paper:

 

_You are Desired to accompany the Corpse of Mr. Arthur Wright, recently deceased,_  
_from the Dwelling House of Mrs. Adeline Wright, by the Belmont Estate_  
_This Saturday, being the First of June at three o’clock in the afternoon Precisely_  
_to the Graveyard of Crooked-Lane_  
_Bring this ticket with You_

“Did you really not get one?” Cain asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t looked,” Margot said. “Either way, this is short notice for a funeral.”

“It’s an opportunity,” Cain said. “Probably the best we’ll get.”

Margot nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll check as soon as I get home and send you a message one way or another. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“Not that I can think of offhand.”

Margot smiled. “Then go get your things ready for the tomorrow and let me alone.  _Some_ of us have actual work to do.”

Cain laughed and got to his feet. He made it to the door before pausing, an unusually serious look in his eyes. “I know you don’t like that I nicked Wright’s stuff without asking, but if you stick with me there’s going to be more of the same. I’m not going to this funeral for the joyous company of a lady who thinks elves shouldn’t marry orcs, and I won’t let decorum stop me from finding out the truth. Are you going to be okay with that?”

It wasn’t decorum that worried her, but Margot wasn’t sure how to say that in a way he could understand. For all they’d been through the last several days they were still strangers. The Dashiell Cain she saw  _seemed_ likable enough, but that wasn’t enough for Margot to trust him. Not completely. Not so soon after seeing the disastrous consequences blind faith could have.

“Someone needs to keep you on the straight and narrow,” Margot said. “Like it or not I’ll be there. That is, assuming i warranted an invite.”

Cain grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must apologize for the lack of updates. I've been in a serious funk when it comes to writing that I'm trying to force myself out of. My original plans for this chapter were to include the funeral, but it took me long enough to get here. Hopefully next chapter will be longer, and not take as long to come. I thank you for your patience.
> 
> As a side note, I never expected to google the phrase "Victorian funeral invitations", but life is funny that way sometimes


	7. The Picture Perfect Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit where credit is due, I referenced 'The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness' and Because Science’s video 'Why You Don’t Want Invisibility' when doing research for this chapter. Both were very informative for very different reasons

As Margot rode to the Belmont Estate she gave thanks to whichever gods that happened to be listening that Arthur Wright’s funeral fell on a weekend, thus saving her the annoyance of trying to get off work on short notice. She was starting to fall behind on her lesson plans, but it was nothing so worrying that she couldn’t spare a day to go out to the country.

There hadn’t been enough time to hire a private carriage, so Margot sat in stilted silence with three others as they rode several hours out of town. The Wrights were wealthy enough to own a summer home near the village of Belmont and spent their winters at the elven capital, where Adeline Wright was an active socialite.

Margot knew little else about Master Wright’s wife. After learning of Margot’s correspondence with Master Wright someone at the Academy had said she was the youngest daughter of an elvish noble, but Margot wasn’t sure if that was true. The one point that everyone agreed upon was that Mrs. Wright was loaded, and since Master Wright’s death she had even heard whispers that he had married her only for the money.

Margot wasn’t prepared to spend time in high society, but with less than a day to prepare there had been no time for shopping. Margot settled for spelling her nicest dress the appropriate shade of black and hoped she wouldn’t stand out  _too_  terribly in a crowd of aristocratic elves. She had even bought a book on etiquette and studied it the night before, until she got cross-eyed trying to keep straight the various rules for polite society.

Normally Margot wouldn’t have bothered, but it wouldn’t do anyone any good if she offended Mrs. Wright by offering her condolences in a way that was considered rude. That didn’t stop her from highlighting a few of the more ridiculous passages and dog-earing the section on letters to use the next time she wrote Lyra, her only regret that she wouldn’t be there to see Lyra’s face as she read the most frivolous, over the top,  _ladylike_  letter Margot could think of.

The things she sacrificed for a long-distance relationship.

Margot smiled to herself and spent the remaining carriage ride mentally revising her letter. She had done what she could to prepare for Master Wright’s funeral on short notice and saw little point in obsessing over things she couldn’t control.

They arrived at Belmont just after two in the afternoon. The village was, in a word, quaint, surrounded by sloping hills and farms that divided the land like a patchwork quilt. Belmont was sustained largely by a glass factory, and by all indications business was good. The streets were cobbled and the children shod. A fountain bubbled pleasantly at the center of the square, adding to the fresh, clean feeling of the village. There was a picture book quality to Belmont, a tiny piece of civilization hidden away in the country.

Cain was waiting for her as she stepped out of the carriage, and without preamble he said, “It’s about a twenty minutes to the Belmont estate by shank’s pony. If we hurry we might be able to get a little bit of talking in before the funeral.”

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Margot said.

Cain smiled. “I wasn’t. Had to get directions, of course, and then I thought I’d rustle some of the locals for gossip.” He extended an arm. “Well, Prof? Are you ready?”

Margot reached out, but instead of taking his arm she touched the cuff of his oversized and conspicuous coat. A small spark of magic passed from her fingertip, and she watched with satisfaction as it transformed from tan to black. The style was all wrong for this time of year, but at least Margot could ensure he showed up in proper mourning.

“Ready,” Margot said a little smugly as Cain gaped at his clothes.  

“You’ve got to show me how you did that,” he said.

“Later. We’ve got a funeral to catch.”

* * *

 

The sprawling estate was even more idyllic than the village that it was named after. The lawns were a healthy green, the lane leading up to the house framed by neatly trimmed hedges, between which one could see snatches of a rose garden—although to it seemed almost a disservice to call such grandeur a mere garden when walking paths wound pleasantly around hundreds of beds of flowers. A large pond, its water clear as glass, nestled against the back of a mansion of red sandstone.

Cain slowed to a stop when they reached an arched stone gate, blinking slowly as he took it all in. It was difficult to read his expression when he said, “You know, growing up I always wanted a yard, but I don’t know what I’d do with this much space.”

“Knowing you, probably get into all sorts of trouble,” Margot said. He didn’t respond immediately, and after another moment of reverent silence she said, “We’re blocking the way. Most of the guests will be arriving by carriage.”

“Right. Better get going, then.”

They walked the rest of the way up to the house and were greeted by a severe-looking elf at the door. He wore the vaguely disapproving look of a butler and asked to see their tickets. When Margot and Cain both produced their invitations the manservant touched with a gloved hand. The black ink flashed with golden light.

“You may enter,” he said gravely. “Mrs. Wright will be receiving visitors in the drawing room down the main hallway and to the left.”

Margot murmured her thanks and together with Cain entered the mansion. As expected, the interior was just as grand as the grounds, but the lighting was dimmed and the windows framed with black crepe. The few servants Margot saw were all dressed in black, and there was even one she suspected was a professional mourner standing in the corner looking sad.

“I don’t think he liked us,” Cain said under his breath.

“Maybe it’s because we’re early. The invitation was very specific.”

Cain bit back a laugh, and the spark returned to his eyes. He got himself under control just as they reached the drawing room (the doorknob to which was predictably covered in black). The door itself was not latched, something which Margot recalled from her book of etiquette. The idea was to prevent the family from being disturbed by an errant knock during their time of intense grief. Cain and Margot shared a look, neither quite sure if they were supposed to enter before the appointed time, only to be saved by the mourner when he nodded at them to enter.

Luckily they were not the first ones to arrive, although based on the quality of their clothes Margot suspected a good number were hired mourners waiting for the funeral march to begin. Though the vast majority in attendance were elves, Margot was pleased to see that she was not the only human, nor Cain the only orc.

But after a swift curiosity glance, Margot’s attention was drawn to the center of the room. There were few people she had met that could effortlessly command the attention of a room, and the elven woman standing next to the closed wooden casket of Arthur Wright was one of them. She was dressed from head to toe in an expertly fitted mourning dress made of the appropriate black crepe and silk. A black widow’s cap was pinned tightly against an attractive coiffure, the threads of silver in her chestnut-brown hair standing out all the more against her dark clothes.

Guessing an elf’s age was always tricky, but Margot put Adeline Wright in her early fifties. Her face still held traces of youthful beauty, amplified by natural grace and a stately demeanor. Every move she made demanded attention, and she seemed the type that usually got what she wanted.

Etiquette demanded that she offer her condolences to the grieving family, so Margot took a deep breath ( _when had she had time to get nervous?)_ and stepped forward, Cain trailing just behind her. As they approached Mrs. Wright turned from a hushed conversation with another elf and regarded them both as if they insects and she hadn’t decided if they were worth stepping on. Her eyes were the color of quicksilver and seemed to bore into Margot’s very soul.

There was a moment of confusion, then recognition flashed in her eyes. Mrs. Wright smiled, and just as suddenly as it had appeared the sense of danger was gone.

“Professor Margot, Mr. Cain, I presume?” she said, her voice a lovely contralto. “My son has told me so much about you.”

Cain took her offered hand and brought his lips just above the knuckles without actually touching them in the traditional elven greeting, his composure never once wavering even as Mrs. Wright winced slightly. Margot’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Apparently she wasn’t the only who had been studying.

“The very same, my lady,” Cain said. “You have my deepest condolences. Words cannot express the sorrow the world feels for the loss of such a great man.”

“I didn’t know Master Wright long, but even so it was evident how hard he worked for the benefit of us all,” Margot added.

“Thank you. And thank you both for coming. I didn’t realize the part you played in saving my son’s life until Felix returned from the hospital,” Mrs. Wright said. “Arthur’s death is unbearable enough already. If something had happened to Felix…my only son…I don’t know what I would have done.”

Mrs. Wright’s lower lip quivered exactly once. It was all the emotion she showed, though Margot thought she saw a shadow of exhaustion in her eyes. Both she and Cain quickly reassured her that they had only done what anyone else would do. Mrs. Wright smiled gratefully at them.

“I thank you for your kind words. Forgive me, but I think I see Felix now and I must speak with him before the funeral. Please, make yourselves comfortable. If there’s anything at all you need ask one of the servants and they will accommodate you.”

Mrs. Wright broke off and strode over to her son. Margot was amazed how everyone in the room knew instinctively to move out of her way, parting like water before her. She spoke quietly to Felix while Isabella Wright kept a firm hold of her two sons, who looked immensely uncomfortable in new suits.

Margot had always thought Felix Wright an engaging and charismatic man, but he was nothing compared to the sheer magnetic power of his mother. Briefly Margot wondered if she was a mage, but she felt no magic in Mrs. Wright. Her power rested in sheer force of personality.

“I bet she and Master Wright had an interesting marriage,” Cain said wryly.

“No kidding.”

Cain consulted his pocket watch. “We still got a little time. You hold down the fort here, I’m going to look for a bathroom.”

“Now?” Margot said incredulously, but Cain was already gone. She had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

_Men._

* * *

 

Margot watched as more people trickled into the room, coming in twos or threes. She moved away from Master Wright’s casket so they could have room to pay their last respects. The simple wooden box was almost lost beneath wreaths of flowers artfully framed around a single photograph of the Wright family, its frame draped in yet more black crepe.

Margot felt a pang of sadness when she saw the photo. Judging by the size of young James and John it had been taken very recently. The twins grinned enormously as they stood in front of their seated grandparents while Felix and Isabella stood just behind, their poses a little too stiff to be considered natural.

Master Wright was not smiling in the photograph, but neither did he look unhappy. Aside from the two boys, each member of the family looked all very dignified and proper—the picture of a perfect family.

But it couldn’t have been perfect, not if Master Wright felt the need to disown his daughter a decade ago. It was as if the Wright family had erased Desdemona from existence. What possibly could have happened that Felix was willing to accuse his own sister of murder after so much time apart?

Margot’s troubled thoughts were interrupted as she felt someone come up behind her. She stepped aside as a portly elf with a head of snowy white hair and a drath familiar on his shoulder approached the casket. He lowered his head and murmured a few words under his breath, grief deepening the lines in his face.

She heard him say, “You were the best of us, old chum. May your soul rest in peace,” before raising his head. His familiar, in the form of a hairless monkey, aped his movements.

“Rest in peace,” it echoed.

It was then she noticed the monkey’s thumbs were on the wrong side of its hands, and Margot had to suppress a shudder.

The elf turned to Margot. “I apologize, Miss, if I’ve interrupted your final goodbyes.”

“No, not at all. It was me who was blocking the way,” Margot said.

“Ah, you are as gracious as you are lovely,” he said, bowing slightly. “My name is Master Andras Hughes, dean of magic studies at the University. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

“Professor Margot, of the Kempeston Academy,” Margot said. She allowed him the same not-quite-kiss that Cain had offered Mrs. Wright.

“Aha, another mage touched by the life of Arthur Wright,” Hughes said. “Were you by chance a student of his?”

“Not quite. I offered him a few services in a professional capacity.”

“Ah, his Teleportation rings,” Hughes said knowingly. “You know, for a moment I thought he would pull it off. Brilliant man, Master Wright was. Absolutely brilliant. And not just as a mage, either! Why, he was one of my best professors. I begged him to stay on at the University, but alas, he was destined for greater things.” Hughes glanced once more at the casket and shook his head sadly.

“I didn’t realize he was connected to a university,” Margot said.

“He left us ten years ago to pursue his research full time. More the pity, he pushed everyone around him to greatness. Brilliant man, he was. Absolutely brilliant.”

“Absolutely,” his drath repeated.

Hughes sighed and offered Margot a shallow bow. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Professor, but I must offer my regrets to Mrs. Wright. Perhaps we could speak again another time.”

“The pleasure was mine,” Margot said, her mind whirling so furiously that she scarcely noticed the monkey’s mocking repetition as Master Hughes took his leave.

Ten years. Master Wright left what she presumed was a tenured position at the University to pursue research. Nothing about that sentence made sense. Universities—especially elvish universities—were bastions of academic research A mage connected to a university had access to funding and equipment that would be almost impossible to find anywhere else, and depending on their contract might not even be required to teach.

“Having fun yet?”

Margot spun around to face Cain. “Where have you been?”

“Looking for a bathroom,” he said easily. His eyes flickered around the nearly full room and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Overheard some gossip. did you know Master Wright and the missus had an argument the day before he left for the conference?"

"No, I didn't," Margot said.

"I thought it was curious she hadn't come to the presentation in person, but I suppose now I know why. Plus," he added, a feral grin on his face, "I found Wright’s office, but one of the servants started giving me a stink eye before I could take a look. Do you think you could take a peek inside?”

“What are you looking for?” Margot said under her breath.

“Anything. Though I don’t think Wright junior told his mother about his suspicions or that he hired me. You can’t let anyone know what you’re doing.”

“What’s the time?”

“Quarter till three. If you’re going to go, it’s got to be quick.”

Margot hummed thoughtfully. Fifteen minutes to get in, look around, and return in time for the funeral procession. It wasn’t nearly enough time, and if she got caught it would likely end their investigation before it had a chance to truly get started.

But it was also their best chance.

“Tell me where to go, and I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

 

True invisibility was nearly impossible, even with magic. It required light to pass completely through or around the one turning invisible, which which in turn caused blindness. Research had only just discovered the reason for this bizarre side effect—which had something to do with how the eye processed light to see—and attempts at a workaround had been…mixed.

So Margot could not turn invisible. She could, however, make herself  _unnoticeable._ She’d discovered the spell when youthful misadventure required her to sneak out of the house unseen. With a properly cast shroud Margot could reduce herself to a shimmering patch of air or a fleeting shadow. 

The trick was not to move quickly or suddenly, or interact with objects when someone was looking. After Cain told her where she could find Master Wright’s office Margot slipped away from the funeral party and asked one of the servants where she might find a restroom.

From there she cast her spell. She felt a tingle as magic settled over her like a second skin. Margot slunk down a hallway, careful that her shoes made no noise against the polished hardwood. Another spell opened her Second Sight, allowing her to see the spells and protections the Wrights had placed on the house itself. The powerful wards glowed with blinding silver light in her vision, and Margot could hardly stand to look at them long enough to identify the sigils and runes carved into the walls by pure magic.

The Belmont Estate was an old house, full of old magic strengthened by centuries of renewed spellwork. Anyone attempting to burgle, set fire, or otherwise cause trouble for the mansion or its occupants was in for a world of hurt.

Mrs. Wright’s invitation, verified with magic, kept Margot from being identified as an intruder as she took the servant’s stairway to the second floor. She kept a steady pace, neither dawdling nor hurrying until she came to the door Cain indicated was Master Wright’s office.

It, too, blazed with magic, but it was the same base protections as the rest of the house. If Master Wright had placed any additional enchantments too keep unwanted snoops out of his office they had died with him. Margot took a moment to study the runes and was reasonably sure nothing would happen if she attempted to open the door—as long as she had the key.

She didn’t even need a magical key, a mundane one would not set off the defenses of the doorway. Margot let out a small huff of exasperation and called water to her hand. If she did not have the correct key she would just have to make one. It was as simple as that.

With one last glance to ensure no servants were about, Margot slid the water into the keyhole. It filled the tumblers and then expanded as she slowly drained away the heat to change it into ice. Carefully she turned the handle of her impromptu key, a satisfied smirk spreading across her face as it gave no resistance.

She was in.

Margot slid into the office and shut the door behind her. For a moment she stood with her back against the door, her heart beating rapidly against her ribcage. In the moment she couldn’t decide whether it was from nerves or excitement of having broken into the personal office of one of the greatest mages of her generation.

She allowed herself only a moment to collect herself before staring helplessly at the room, unsure of where to begin. The authorities had likely gone over the space already, and would have taken anything related to Master Wright’s research. What Margot needed to find was something more personal in nature, a clue that would give insight into who might want him dead.

Margot went to the desk that dominated the workspace. Master Wright was not a tidy man, and papers were strewn all about its surface. Half a dozen quills, most with split veins or ink crusted ink on their nibs littered the desk and the floor, while an open bottle of black ink was set precariously on the edge of the desk.

With her Second Sight still activated, Margot carefully opened a drawer at random. It held nothing but paper and more quills, and she abandoned it for another, and then another and another. She found two volumes on thermodynamics and a thick physics tome, pages upon pages of half-filled pieces of parchment where Master Wright had scribbled equations and drafted designs for his Teleportation device, as well as mundane letters from managing the estate.

Margot was nearly ready to give up when she caught a silvery glimmer out of the corner of her eye. She reopened the last draw of the desk a second time and peered into it, relying more on her magic than her physical senses to see what did not want to be seen.

Etched at the very back of the drawer was a small sigil that Margot had not noticed at first glance. It was a spell of disillusionment, not unlike the one Margot wore to sneak up here in the first place, but its power was fading. Without Master Wright to renew the spell it would soon be nothing more than a few marks carved into wood.

But what was it for? Margot dismissed her Second Sight, blinking rapidly until her normal vision returned to her. It was a drawer. Why would Master Wright want to hide a drawer?

Carefully she felt the bottom of the panel and let out a soft noise of surprise when it was shallower from the inside than the outside indicated. Realizing that she was on to something, she quickly emptied out the contents of the drawer and felt along the whole length of the bottom until her fingers found a hidden trigger mechanism.

The wooden panel popped out easily, revealing a hidden space underneath that held bundles of letters bound together by pieces of colored ribbon. Margot picked up the first stack, marked with green, and saw that each were signed by Felix. A second bundle—this one tied with a red ribbon—were letters from Adaline. A third was addressed to a school that Margot didn’t recognize, another to Master Hughes, while still others were from men and women Margot had never heard of before. She even found her own name, and recognized the correspondence she had sent when advising him on his Teleportation devise.

Some of the letters went back decades while others were dated just days before Master Wright’s death. Margot couldn’t fathom why he had any of them hidden in a secret compartment in his desk.

There was no time to ponder. The funeral would be starting soon, and Margot hurried to put everything back where she had found it. In her haste a slip of paper escaped from between the stacks and flittered to the floor. Margot reached down to pick it up and froze.

It was a photograph, much older and more worn than the one setting on the casket downstairs. The trappings were much the same: Master and Mrs. Wright sat in chairs with a young Felix standing between them—his grin identical to the ones his boys would wear decades later. Beside Master Wright was a girl, her dark hair done in ringlets and an unhappy scowl on her face. She stood away from the others with her arms crossed, the picture of pure stubbornness.

And beside Mrs. Wright was a second girl who bore an uncommon resemblance to the first, even for a sister. Her head was turned towards the girl with the ringlets, as if the picture had been taken before she was ready. Her face was scrunched with worry.

The photograph itself was in poor condition, with deep creases where it had been folded into quarters and corners that curled in with age. Margot flipped it over, noting the inscription written in Master Wright’s untidy hand.

_Felix—Age Thirteen  
Desdemona and Abigail—Age Five_

Margot whistled quietly to herself and tucked the photograph into her dress pocket. “I guess twins do run in the family after all.”


	8. Name on a Tombstone

 

Margot slunk back to the drawing room just as the guests were lining up for the funeral procession. Six pallbearers stood around the casket—now devoid of flowers, photographs, and crepe—while everyone else lined up according to prominence. Margot knew her place was near the back, behind remaining family, close friends and work relations, and was able to take advantage of the commotion to slide next to Cain.

“Cutting it a little close, Prof. Was starting to get worried about you,” he said.

Margot took the photograph out of her pocket and surreptitiously passed it to him. “I told you I could take care of myself.”

The line moved forward. There were not as many people present as Margot would have expected, perhaps thirty or forty altogether. It seemed like Mrs. Wright had only invited those closest to the family for her husband’s funeral. Margot briefly wondered how large a part Felix had played in getting them here in the first place.

Cain moved carefully so that Margot was shielding him and glanced down at the photograph. He made no noise of surprise, but went very still for a moment before tucking it into his coat pocket.

“That’s certainly something,” he said under his breath.

“I’m not sure we can take it out of the house,” Margot said. “There are some pretty strong spells against theft.”

“Figured as much. Don’t worry, this coat’s not just for show.”

They reached the entranceway before Margot had a chance to ask what he meant. She tried not to look worried as a servant led them to a waiting carriage at the end of the funeral party (black, of course, with black horses pulling. Margot would die a happy woman if she never saw so much black again for the rest of her life).

No alarm bells went off. No one came screaming out of the house saying they had been robbed. Nothing extraordinary happened whatsoever.

Margot raised an eyebrow in silent question, and Cain smirked. “I’ll tell you later.”

There was no more opportunity to talk. They shared a carriage with a somber elf Margot thought was a paid mourner, and shortly after squeezing in to a space that had not accounted for an orcs size they lurched into motion.

The funeral procession was appropriately slow, and through the curtains Margot could see men and woman step to the side of the road out of respect for the dead. It took nearly twice as long to ride to the small cemetery just outside the village of Belmont than it had to walk to the estate.

From there the procession turned into a march. The funeral party gathered into two lines, starting with the pallbearers and ending with Margot and Cain. They walked into the heart of the cemetery where Maser Wright’s grave lay waiting openmouthed to receive him.

Margot paid little mind to the man reciting the final rites. He gave the usual speeches and made a valiant effort of comforting the surviving family. To Margot’s ear he sounded a little too formal, a little too scripted, to be effective.

Most of her attention was taken by the funeral-goers themselves. It was difficult to get a decent view from the back of the crowd, but she could see Felix standing stoically next to his weeping wife. He wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders and drew her in close, only to drop it awkwardly by his side when his mother shot him a sharp glare.

Margot’s book of etiquette had been silent in the area of how a husband was to comfort his wife during the funeral of his father, but that seemed cruel even by the strictest elf’s code of socially acceptable behavior. Her gaze slid to Mrs. Wright. Her posture was perfect and yet somehow effortless, her natural dignity and grace in no way diminished by the widow’s cap she wore like a crown.

There were few things in life that Margot let bother her, but she found Mrs. Wright’s demeanor unsettling. Margot had no difficulty believing that she was the sort of woman who would tell her circle of friends that her daughter had eloped with an orc and mean it as some sort of insult.

 _You’re just being paranoid_ , Margot scolded herself.  _Jumping to conclusions because of a forgotten photograph._

Perhaps, but that didn’t explain the conspicuous absence of Abigail Wright.

Margot was still stewing on the complicated relationship between the Wrights when the speaker finished and beckoned Felix forward. Felix waited as an unnatural hush fell over the already subdued crowd.

“On behalf of the family, I would like to thank each and every one of you for coming,” he began. “My father deserves something far greater than a simple tombstone near a sleepy village, but he was a simple man of simple tastes. May his soul find rest in the home of his forefathers, and may we never forget all that he has done.”

An appreciative murmur rippled through the funeral party. Felix swallowed thickly. “It is said that it is the curse of dreamers that they never get to see the dawn. My father died at the cusp of greatness, but do not allow his untimely end take away from the accomplishments of life. Countless mages, myself included, got their start under my father’s teaching, and the theories he developed will drive the world of magical research for decades to come. He held himself to the same standard of excellence he expected of those around him, and the world is better for it. May he…may he rest in peace forever.”

At this cue the casket was lowered into the ground. Felix stood at the edge of his father’s grave with his head bowed, lips moving silently. When he looked up again his face was drawn with grim determination.

It was traditional for elf families to bury their own dead, and as Master Wright’s first and only son that duty fell on Felix’s shoulders. While the onlookers watched he gathered a large heap of dirt with his magic, meadow green energy encasing rich black earth.

Suddenly everyone was moving, Margot a beat behind the rest. “What’s going on?” she whispered to Cain.

“Last viewing, then it’s back to the Wright’s so everyone can go home,” Cain said. “I expect they’ll be a meal for the closest family and friends, but we don’t qualify.”

“And the burial?” Margot asked. “I don’t think he got more than six inches worth of dirt in there.”

“Someone’ll see to the rest after we’re gone. What’d you think of Wright junior’s eulogy?”

Margot was still trying to wrap her mind around elven funeral practices and hadn’t given it much thought. “It was nice enough, I suppose. I think he was right that his father wouldn’t have wanted anything grander than this.”

“You don’t think this is plenty grand?” Cain asked.

“It’s expensive. The terms aren’t synonymous.”

“Fair enough.”

Once again they found themselves at the back of the line. One by one people stopped to offer their final words, either to Master Wright or his family who was standing near the grave. Finally Margot and Cain were standing in front of Mrs. Wright, Felix, and Isabella.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Margot said. The two Mrs. Wrights inclined their heads, the elder perfectly poised and the younger’s eyes red-rimmed and puffy from crying.

“Thank you for taking the time to come out on such short notice,” Felix said. There were still faint streaks of pink on his face from his burn. “I hope I haven’t interrupted your work.”

The corner of his brown eyes crinkled with silent question. Cain nodded solemnly. “Not at all, Mr. Wright. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” He scratched his forehead awkwardly. “Forgive my impropriety, but might I have a word in private? I’ve news the gentler sex might find upsetting on this already upsetting day.”

“What’s the meaning of this?” Adeline asked. Her mouth twisted into a grimace as she reached for her son with a gloved hand. “Felix?”

“Your son has asked I look into a potential investor for Master Wright’s Teleportation device,” Cain said. “Again I apologize for impropriety, but I’ve time sensitive information he’ll find of interest. After all,” he added, letting his eyes flutter to the ground, “it wouldn’t be right for Master Wright’s research go unfinished.”

“Now is not a good time,” Felix said coolly.

“It’ll just take a moment,” Cain said, and before Felix could answer Cain had taken him by the elbow and half-drug him to a more private area.

“How  _dare_  he,” Adeline said, grey eyes blazing like quicksilver. “How dare that orc!”

“I’m sure he didn’t know,” Isabella murmured. “Orcs have such…different funeral customs.”

Adaline looked like she wanted to say more, after a glance at Margot stayed her tongue. Frosty tension sprung up between mother- and daughter-in-law. Sensing it would be best to be any place else, Margot cleared her throat. “I’ll just go make sure they’re doing okay.”

Margot hurried over to Cain, slowing only when she saw the fury in Felix’s eyes. She heard him hiss under his breath, “How dare you! My sister has nothing to do with this.”

It took a great deal of effort not to rub her suddenly aching forehead. If Cain was hoping to endear himself to the Wright family, he was failing miserably.

“I’m just asking where she is,” Cain said soothingly. “It’s a curious thing, you being so adamant Desdemona had something to do with your father’s death and failing to even mention the existence of another sister.”

“Abigail is on the other side of the continent, married to a diplomat,” Felix spat. “She has done nothing wrong—“

“You’re a terrible liar, Wright,” Cain said. “If your sister was in the family’s good graces she would have been mentioned among surviving relatives. Neither of your sisters were spoken of during the services, nor did any of the other guests so much as say her name. I talked to a dozen people today, and not a one mentioned their regrets that Abigail couldn’t make it. I believe for a second a diplomat’s wife wouldn’t be able to make it home for her father’s funeral.”

All of the color left Felix’s face.

“Where is your sister, Mr. Wright?” Cain asked.

“You didn’t see, Mr. Cain?” Felix said bitterly. “Her headstone was right next to Father’s.”

There was a beat of silence. “Your sister’s dead?”

Felix clenched his fists, the tendons in his hands stretching taunt against his skin. “It’s none of your business, but yes, my sister is dead. Desdemona’s selfishness affected her most of all, and she never recovered.”

“What do you mean by that?” Margot asked.

“What do you think I mean?” Felix spat. “Abigail had always been sensitive and reserved, and Father made the mistake of letting her study magic. It…confused her, and when Desdemona left…”

Felix’s gaze drifted over to his family. “I’m eight years older than my sisters. I never understood how close twins could be until I had my boys. Abigail was devastated when Desdemona ran away. She withdrew into herself entirely, and there was nothing anyone could do to help her.”

“I didn’t know,” Cain said.

“Few do, and it’s not something that’s spoken of in polite company,” Felix said. His shoulders slumped, and he looked suddenly weary. “We weren’t even able to dredge the body out of the river.”

“So you tell people she’s married to a diplomat instead?” Margot said.

Felix fixed her a steely glare. “You wouldn’t understand. Desdemona is an embarrassment, but what Abigail did…It’s better this way. Now if you excuse me, my family needs me, and  _you’ve_  overstayed your welcome.”

“Just as well. The professor and I needed to catch a ride home anyway,” Cain said.

“Don’t forget what you’ve been tasked to do, Mr. Cain,” Felix said, making it sound like a threat. “Desdemona is responsible for this.  _All_ of this. Find her, and bring her to justice.”

He strode away in a manner that was eerily similar to his mother. Margot and Cain watched as the Wright family gathered into a waiting carriage at the head of the funeral party.

Cain removed his hat and ran his fingers through his unruly hair. One by one the horses left the cemetery, until only he and Margot remained. Once they were alone he reached into his coat pocket and fished out a stick of jerky.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Cain said quietly before walking slowly back to the gravesite. Only instead of stopping where an elf was filling in the rest of Master Wright’s grave he sauntered over to the next headstone over.

It was a simple slab of granite, nondescript almost to the point of invisibility compared to the more elaborate monuments of the cemetery. There were no flowers or memorials that surrounded it, only a name and a simple line of verse.

_Abigail Wright_

_Her Life A Beautiful Memory  
Her Absence A Silent Grief_

“Well I’ll be &#@!@*,” Cain said.

“What is it?” Margot asked.

“Look at the dates.”

Margot squinted down at the headstone. Abigail Wright had been dead for three years, almost to the day. She had only been twenty-seven years old.

“Didn’t you say Master Wright hired Mr. Westmacott three years ago?” she asked.

Cain chewed thoughtfully on his jerky. “Sure did, and I think I’m starting to understand why."

* * *

Cain was silent for the majority of the ride back to Kempteson. He took up as much space of the carriage as he was able without impinging on Margot, his head tilted towards the roof of the carriage as he went through piece after piece of jerky.

Margot let him be and tried her best not to be put off by his manner. She recognized a man deep in thought when she saw one, and of the two of them he was the one who knew what he was doing. Her own thoughts were a muddled mess, trying to make sense of what she’d learned. It was only as the city first came into view that Cain spoke.

“I was ten when my grandpa died,” he said slowly. “My dad’s dad. I remember it was yesterday.”

Cain took the piece of jerky out of his mouth, holding it like it was a cigarette. “When my dad went up to say his bit he talked about how thoughtful my grandpa was, how big his heart was and his generosity. He didn’t once mention that he was a pretty good carpenter, too.” He looked down at Margot for the first time since they left the cemetery.

“Everyone’s been talking about Wright’s accomplishments with magic. Not one person’s spoken up about the kind of man he was. His own wife didn’t shed a tear as he was being lowered into the ground.”

“Do you think someone in the family tampered with Master Wright’s work?” Margot said, troubled.

Cain shrugged. “Dunno. Wright had enemies, and there were plenty of people who don’t want to see his work come to fruition. But Wright was cautious—how could his enemies get close if not through someone he trusted?”

“I heard Master Wright left the university ten years ago,” she said. “That’s when he disowned his daughter.”

“And seven years later he hires Mr. Westmacott right around the time his other daughter commits suicide. Not to mention that somewhere along the line the son’s gotten on a first-name basis with the mob.” His eyebrows drew together as he thought. “You know, I’m pretty good at reading lips, and Wright junior told his old man to go to hell right before lowering him in the ground.”

“You’re sure about that?” Margot said.

“As sure as I can be,” Cain said. “Mark my words, there’s bad blood between father and son.”

Margot took a moment to digest what he’d said. “How does Anansi fit into all of this?”

“Quite the stumper, isn’t it?” He rubbed his jaw before reaching in his inside coat pocket. Carefully he unfolded the faded photograph, tapping with one thick finger the girl in the ringlets.

“This is going to sound crazy, but I’ve seen this girl before,” Cain said. “She was all grown up, but there are some expressions that just don’t change.”

“When?” Margot asked.

“Three years ago, and again at the mage’s conference right before it all blew to hell. I swear this girl’s my dame. If I’m right, then Master Wright was having Mr. Westmacott trail Desdemona when Abigail died.”

“And if you’re right, Desdemona and Felix both were at the scene of the crime when Master Wright was killed,” Margot said.

They stared at one another. They had gone to Master Wright’s funeral searching for answers and had come away with more questions. Margot had agreed to help Cain assuming that some outside force had somehow tampered with Master Wright’s research, but what if his murderer was literally someone closer to home?

“I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, but there’s no smoke without fire,” Cain said, tucking the photograph back into his pocket. “I think it’s time we focus on finding Desdemona Wright.”


	9. Child of Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FYI: Hawkshaw is old Victorian slang for detective, originating from a super popular play written in the 1800s that's believed to be the first play ever to feature a detective.

Margot reached the Red Griffin Inn as the bells struck noon. She scanned the streets for a familiar face, but Cain was nowhere to be seen. With a mild sigh of irritation she settled outside to wait. It was a cheerful and bright Sunday afternoon, and the traffic showed it. It was the sort of day to spend relaxing outside with loved ones, not investigating gristly murders.

Margot was especially dour after a poor night’s sleep, the new revelations of the Wright family churning in her mind. She was a mage, a woman of science and method, firm in both her opinions and convictions. She believed problems were best dealt with when they were small and manageable—whether that was in the workplace or at home.

The Wrights were messy. Even if Master Wright hadn’t been killed it was the sort of family drama that wouldn’t have been easily solved. In the past Margot had helped students deal with difficult situations at home, and knew on a more personal note that Lyra’s relationship with her mother was…complicated, to say the least. But this seemed different somehow, more tragic after two very preventable deaths.

She supposed part of her disappointment was with Master Wright himself. Their last interaction aside, she had always admired his work and was proud of the opportunity to play a small part in his research. A talent like his only cropped up once or twice in a generation, and with an elf’s longevity Master Wright could have contributed to his field for decades to come.

Margot was not so naïve to believe that being a good mage made one a good person, but it still shook her to have the pedestal of someone she respected—someone she had met and _thought_ she knew, if only a little—crumble so spectacularly.

She was still mulling over her thoughts when Cain appeared ten minutes later lecturing a ratty-looking child in a newsboy cap. 

“No scampering off till you make eyes with everyone in the building, then report back to me. Do you understand?”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Unlike your beard, I ain’t stupid. But I’m telling ya, that’s Rockhead territory. Louis broke his arm tanglin’ with one of their gang.”

“You saying you can’t handle it?” Cain asked.

“I’m saying you ain’t paying me to scoop a building _and_ keep clear of the Rockhead lads.”

Cain fished in his pants pocket and thrust a handful of coins at the boy. “That ought to cover your trouble.”

The boy snatched the money almost before Cain had his hand out of his pocket. “It otta. Pleasure doin’ business, Mr. Cain.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Tobe. Ever think of cutting an old man some slack?”

“Only when my purse is as fat as your head,” the boy said with a cheeky grin. He tipped his hat to Margot. “This hawkshaw fancies himself a gentleman, so don’t let ‘em work you without buyin’ lunch first.”

“Tobe!”

The boy melted back into the crowd before Cain could say anything more. He rubbed his eyes, exasperated. “I swear that boy will be the death of me.”

“Who is he?” Margot said, suppressing a smile.

“A common ragamuffin,” Cain said sourly. “A scoundrel of the highest order, pickpocket extraordinaire, and my best informant. I’m having him watch the playhouse where you first met Anansi on a hunch.”

“He’s a kid,” Margot said.

“He’s a runaway who had a very good reason not to want to go back home,” Cain said. “I make sure he’s got money to eat and a fire during the winter, and in exchange get another set of eyes and ears on the street. He’s got a knack for it, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

Cain fished out a piece of jerky and sighed. “Do you have a half-penny I can bum? I just gave away all my spare change, and from what you said Anansi’s the type to stick to particulars.”

“You don’t have any in those magic pockets of yours?” Margot said.

“Pocket,” Cain corrected. “The rest are perfectly normal.”

“You never did say how it worked.”

There was a quiet snort, and Cain scratched the back of his head. “I’d hoped you’d forgotten about that. Shoulda known better. To make a long story short, it’s a vanishing pocket. Anything I put in there is technically in a state of existence and non-existence at the same time, which fools most spells protecting against theft—especially in old houses since the technique was only developed a couple of decades ago.”

“You’re lucky the Wright’s haven’t updated the defenses on their estate,” Margot said.

“They can’t, not without undoing a century of spellwork,” Cain said. “That house has had so many protection from fire spells on it you could douse the whole thing in kerosene and it still wouldn’t light. Would you risk taking that away on the off-chance an enterprising detective happens to have a workaround?”

“Tricky,” Margot said, impressed despite herself.

Cain tapped his forehead, grin spreading. “Mind like a steel trap.”

“And no change in your pockets, magic or otherwise.”

“Can’t deny it,” he chuckled.

“Anyway,” Margot said, “it’s probably best if I pay. Anansi very specifically said they would tell _me_ a story.”

“That’s fair. Just remember, we’re trying to find out what Anansi knows about Desdemona.”

They walked inside together. The Red Griffin Inn was the type of place that, while not having the freshest paint or softest pillows, carried a certain amount of charm. It was only a few streets over from where Margot met Anansi for the first time, and catered to the same rough and tumble crowd. But the place was clean and sun streamed through open windows, carrying a fresh breeze along with the sunlight.

Margot’s attention was immediately drawn to a gaggle of children crowding the lobby. Some wore carefully mended clothing and went barefoot, while others were dressed in the crisp, clean linins of a merchant’s child. One girl, whose golden hair had been styled in the latest fashion, sat next to a boy so raggedy he made Tobe look like a prince in comparison. Every eye was glued to an orcish woman who sat at the center of them all.

She was dressed like a sailor and puffed contentedly on a long-stemmed pipe. Laugh lines framed deep-set brown eyes and a streak of white ran through a long braid. Even at a distance Margot could see the faint scars of a brawler across her knuckles.

The woman scanned the children while she smoked, a crooked smile spreading across her face as Margot and Cain settled in near the back. “Noon has come and gone. Who vould hear a story?”

As if by magic a coin appeared in each child’s hand. The woman handed around a battered cap, only pausing when she reached the ragged boy.

“For you, _solnyshko_ , I vould speak a thousand stories,” she said, pressing the coin back in his hand along with a shiny red apple. Where she found one out of season would forever be a mystery, and the boy sat back with his eyes as wide as saucers, the fruit cradled protectively against his chest.

“Now yesterday I told the tale of the great Vizard Hym’s victory over the dread pirate Roberts. Should I continue his story, hmm? Or perhaps you vould like to hear the Dwarf King’s battle against the Lords of Night?”

The girl with the golden curls shot her hand into the air. “I want to hear about the Fairy Queen!”

“No, Khrone the Unkillable!” another shouted.

The woman listened to half a dozen suggestions and discarded them all before a young orcish girl at her feet said, “Can you please tell a story about the Wasted Lady?”

A hush fell over the children as the woman sat back in her chair and took another puff on her pipe. A glint entered her dark eyes, and she smiled. “You vould hear of the Lady? Very well, den. Our tale begins long ago, ven the stars vere still young in the sky…”

It was a story that Margot had heard a dozen times before, but the children were enraptured. Cain chuckled quietly under his breath and whispered to Margo, “When you said Anansi would tell any story in the world for a half-penny, I didn’t think it was literal.”

Margot craned her head at him. “That’s not Anansi.”

“What?”

Margot pointed behind the bar where a pimple-faced and beleaguered young woman was wiping down glasses. She was so unassuming Margot wouldn’t have noticed her, if not for the faint flicker of familiar magic that hid her true form. 

“ _That’s_ Anansi.”

Cain did a double take. “You’re kidding.” Margot only shook her head, and he rubbed his chin in thought. “Right. Okay then. That’s not what I was expecting.”

“I get the feeling that’s how Anansi prefers it,” Margot said dryly.

Cain grunted in agreement. His eyes darting between where the orcish woman told her story and the false barmaid. Margot could almost see the gears turning in his mind as he processed this new information.

“Alright then,” he said so quietly Margot wondered if he was talking to her or himself. “Two can play that game.”

He strode over to the bar in a way that made his coat billow dramatically behind him. Margot followed in a less ridiculous manner and took the seat next to him. Cain had yet to remove his hat, and the shadows framed his face in a way that might have been intimidating if Margot didn’t already know him.

For a moment Margot felt uneasy. Trying to bully Anansi for information wasn’t going to work, but before she could say anything the not-a-barmaid was before them.

“What’ll it be?”

“It’s quite the crowd you’ve got here,” Cain said conversationally.

“If you don’t like the kids you can leave,” Anansi said. “Gudrid likes ‘em and she owns the place. Now what’ll it be?”

Cain nudged Margot softly in the arm, and she slid her half-penny across the bar. “I hear Gudrid isn’t the only one who knows her way around a story,” Margot said softly, voice laced with deceptive sweetness. “And I’m still looking for Desdemona Wright.”

Anansi blinked in surprise. It was the first time Margot had seen them break character, and her lips curled with the minor victory. The moment was gone almost as soon as it had come, and they regarded Margot carefully, dark eyes unfathomable.

“Still running errands for Felix then? I thought you were smarter than that, darling.”

“May I introduce my associate Mr. Dashiell Cain,” Margot said.

Anansi did the unthinkable and broke character a second time. They whipped their head toward Cain, sudden smile splitting their face. “Of course!” they exclaimed, drawing a look of ire from Gurdrid. Anansi offered a bashful apology before leaning across the bar table.

“You’re Conan’s little project?” they said in a stage whisper. “My goodness, you’ve grown.”

Cain frowned. “Do I know you?”

“No, but I know Conan Westmacott.” Anansi said. “Wonderful man. Spoke very highly of you, you know. I wept when I heard of his retirement. _Wept._ But it seems to be suiting him well, and he’s got you to follow in his footsteps. It all makes sense now.” 

“Mr. Westmacott…talks about me?” Cain said, caught completely off-guard from this revelation.

“Of course, darling! You know, when I wrote that play of his he absolutely _insisted_ on complete and total accuracy. No skimping on details, not even for the little half-orc who helped crack the case once and for all.” Anansi shook Cain’s hand enthusiastically. “Goodness, that’s been almost fifteen years now, hasn’t it? That play was my big break. I owe my career to Mr. Westmacott, and by extension you.”

“ _You_ wrote the play about the dwarven counterfeiting ring?” Cain asked.

“Wrote, produced, and acted,” Anansi said proudly. “My first one-man show. Conan thought the illusions were too gimmicky, but audiences loved it.”

“I didn’t know you helped Mr. Westmacott on the counterfeiting case,” Margot said, looking up at Cain.

“I…well, I didn’t. Not really,” he mumbled, his cheeks darkening with a blush. “It was a happy accident. I was just a kid who happened to be in the right place at the right time.” He coughed awkwardly.

“Anyway, that’s not why we’re here,” Cain said, trying to reassert himself. But it was as if the universe itself was trying to amplify his embarrassment. Any authority in his voice was drowned out as Gudrid finished her tale and released the small sea of children back to the streets.

Once they were gone Gudrid sauntered behind the bar and smacked Anansi on the back of the head. “I let you listen if _qviet_. Go make trouble someplace else.”

Anansi flashed her a charming smile that looked downright _wrong_ on the face they were wearing. “You let me listen because I’m willing to work the bar for free— _ow!_ That was uncalled for!”

Rubbing the back of their head, Anansi turned mulishly back to his audience of Margot and Cain. “See the abuse I put up with? I come trying to learn from the best storyweaver this side of the Tributine, offering free labor and asking nothing in return but to listen…”

Gudrid let out a low growl of warning, and Anansi raised their hands in a pacifying gesture. “I’m going, I’m going! Stars and stones, you’d think I drank all your beer and punched a hole in the wall.”

With nimble movements Anansi vaulted the bar before slinging an arm around both Cain and Margot’s shoulders. “Let’s go someplace more private, shall we? It seems I owe the professor a story of my own.”

* * *

Anansi led them to a private table and took the liberty of ordering them drinks. When Gudrid came around Margot took a polite sip and complimented the orc on her ale. The orcish woman softened a little at that, and Anansi was able to spout a cheeky retort without getting smacked.

The relationship between the two made Margot curious, but so curious enough to risk their chance at Desdemona by asking. Once they were are comfortably settled she caught Cain’s eye, and he gave a subtle nod.

“We would like to speak to Desdemona if it’s at all possible,” Margot said. “Do you know where she is?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you, darling,” Anansi said.

“Can’t or won’t?” Cain asked.

Anansi shrugged languidly. “As long as you work for Felix Wright, I fail to see the difference. I’m disappointed, Mr. Cain. Conan never would have taken a client of his sort.”

Cain’s features hardened, but he gave no other reaction. “What’s your beef with Wright junior?”

“He’s a pompous, self-inflated buffoon,” Anansi said. They leaned on their hand and looked at Cain with a dreamy expression. “I’ll admit I don’t know him, but what I saw at the mage’s conference was enough. The conference paid for rooms for all the speakers. I always enjoy speaking with the locals when I travel, and was having a lovely conversation the proprietor of the hotel after my show when young Mr. Wright came stumbling in, drunk and angry. It must have been near two in the morning, the day before his father’s great demonstration and he was near-shouting with the help for not having his rooms ready.”

Anansi went silent for a moment, frowning slightly at the memory. “I was aghast. Felix Wright portrays himself a gentleman, but what sort of gentleman needs his daddy to come down and get him to behave out in public, hmm? I’ve seen his type before, and I _despise_ it. I’ll not lift a finger to aid whatever cause that overgrown child is championing.”

Cain and Margot shared a look. The story Anansi told was completely at odds with Felix’s tale of the night before the murder. But which one was telling the truth?

“What exactly did Master and Mr. Wright say to one another in the lobby?” Cain asked.

“Oh, Master Wright knew better than to cause a scene in public,” Anansi said. “But I would give one of my eyeteeth to have been a fly on the wall in their room.”

“What about the performance itself?” Margot asked. “I was told _The Death of Desdemona_ was written anonymously.”

“You heard rightly,” Anansi said. “People often give me copies of their work. I honestly don’t recall where I picked it up. The play itself is nothing special, there was a line of verse that caught my attention. That’s the only portion I performed at the conference.”

Anansi cleared their voice, and their demeanor changed, the playful trickster replaced by the famed performer. And with the change came a new face. Gone was the comely human, and in its stead was an elven woman with long brown hair. Almond-shaped eyes were the color of emeralds, her skin a rich olive complexion.  

It was not the face of Desdemona Wright. The girl in Master Wright’s photograph had brown eyes, and even at the tender age of five it was obvious that the Wright twins took after their mother. The mask Anansi wore bore little resemblance to that of Adaline Wright, but at a distance, in a darkened performance hall…

Margot tried to think of it from Felix’s point of view. It had been a decade since he’d last seen Desdemona. Her name alone shook him, perhaps enough to subliminally suggest that the woman he saw on stage was in fact his sister.

Whether the guise fooled Master Wright was another matter entirely, but Margot could believe that the name, along with a face that bore a slight resemblance to his daughter, would be enough for him to storm back stage and demand answers.

All of this flashed though Margot’s mind in the time it took Anansi to finish their illusion. In the blink of an eye she wasn’t in the Red Griffin Inn, but the grand stage of Benson Hall where Anansi stood on stage. The auditorium was dim save for a spotlight where Anansi stood.

Margot gripped the arm rests of her seat. She knew it was only an illusion. She _knew._ But her senses disagreed with what her brain knew to be true. She could feel the uncomfortable wooden seat, taste the familiar buzz of two hundred mages sitting in the same space.

Anansi spoke, their voice clear and ringing throughout the auditorium.

 _“Child of sorrow, none do mourn_  
Alas, tis fate, now bear their scorn  
Lord and Lady turn their face  
And abandon thee in thy disgrace

 _Child of sorrow, none do mourn_  
From friend and kin cruelly torn  
Fortune’s favorite son turns his head  
And finds another in your stead

 _Child of sorrow, none do mourn_  
Lost in mis’ry, wandering lorn  
Seeking, searching as silence swallows pity’s cry  
Your father’s daughter bids thee die

 _The sun soon rises on an empty grave_  
Though once abandon’d, hope doth save  
Child of sorrow, none do mourn  
As fire consumest dross, thou hast been reborn”

Each word was dripped in honey and hit with the power of a berserking orc. When Anansi finished Margot’s heart ached and tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she didn’t know why. She was not sentimental enough to fall apart over a melodramatic poem, but with Anansi’s performance that didn't seem to matter.

Suddenly Margot was back at the inn. Anansi offered her a kerchief, an apologetic smile on their face.

“I’m sorry, darling. I forget sometimes the affect it can have the first time”

“Hells bells,” Cain breathed. “That was…wow.”

“It’s not a great work by any means,” Anansi said. “It doesn’t scan and there’s no meter to speak of, but sometimes even a poorly written piece can have meaning.”

“A really depressing meaning,” Cain said.

Anansi raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Cain, do you know what the name Desdemona means?”

“Not a clue.”

“Ill-starred,” Anansi said. “Unlucky, miserable, and—dare I say it— _sorrow._ The death of Desdemona is the death of misfortune.”

“Reborn through hope,” Margot said.

“Exactly!” Anansi said. “Whoever the author was, they weren’t writing a lament. They were writing a celebration.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I hate poetry. It's stupid and I don't understand it and I hate it when poems use allegory because it always breaks down and no one knows what anyone's talking about 
> 
> Also me: Let's make this a plot point. Surely nothing could go wrong :D


	10. A Meeting with Isabella Wright

Margot and Cain were walking outside the Red Griffin Inn, each trying to comprehend what had just happened in their own way, when something began to chirp from inside Cain’s pocket.

It was one of his ordinary pockets. A dark look came over Cain’s face as he thrust his hand into the depths of his coat and pulled out a small stone inscribed with glowing orange runes. Margot had to wince as he clumsily traced a sigil in the air that acted as the second half of a two-part spell. The surge of magical energy was uneven, the sigil lacking the crisp lines required for proper casting.

“What is it?” Cain said, speaking to the rock.

“ _Where have you been?”_ was the irate reply.

“I said I’d be out,” Cain said. “Just got finished following up on a lead.”

“ _Oh for the love of all that is good and holy, are you_ still _on that Wright case?_ ” the voice said.  _“A dame’s been waiting thirty minutes for you, gods only know why. Looks to be loaded and won’t speak to anyone else. So get your big green behind here right this second and make yourself useful!”_

The orange glow faded from the stone, and for a moment Cain was left scowling at and its polished surface. Carefully Margot asked, “Who was that?”

“Senior partner at the office,” Cain said. He shoved the rock back into his pocket. “Gah, we’re this close to breaking this thing wide open.”

There was no missing his frustration, and Margot touched him gently on his arm. “Hey, it’s just a client. I don’t have anything else planned for this afternoon. How about I come with you, and when you’re done we can talk about our next step.” She smiled. “For all you know your boy Tobe has already found what you’re looking for. You  _did_  say he was talented.”

“I hope you’re right, Prof. I hope you’re right.” Cain reached for a piece of jerky and sighed. “It’s just…I can’t shake the feeling that we’re running out of time.”

* * *

Cain’s office was situated in an attractive brownstone complex just up the river. Cain ducked through the doorway, removed his hat, and tried unsuccessfully to flatten his hair. A secretary looked up, fingers never slowing as she typed away at a typewriter, and said, “Mrs. Wright is waiting for you.”

“Which one?”

The words were hardly out of Cain’s mouth when Isabella Wright rose to greet them. She was decked from head to toe in mourning, the finery out of place in the drab and ordinary office. Behind her veil Margot could see that her eyes were bloodshot, and it would not surprise her to find out that she had recently been crying.

“Mrs. Wright,” Cain said. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“Oh, Mr. Cain, I don’t know what to do,” she said, clutching a handkerchief close to her chest. It was a surreal image ripped right out of a pulp fiction novel, the damsel in distress reaching out to the hero to save the day, and right on cue Cain swept over to a door blazoned with his name.

“We can talk more in my office.”

“O-of course.”

Margot didn’t miss the note of hesitation in her voice, and without waiting for an invitation followed close behind. She looked questioningly up at Cain, who only shrugged.

They all crammed into Cain’s tiny office. Cain pulled out a chair for Isabella before taking his position behind the desk, leaving Margot to lean languidly against the wall. Isabella glanced timorously at her, before seeming to decide that she was not a threat, before turning her attention back to Cain.

“I’m so sorry to intrude like this, Mr. Cain,” she said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“So you’ve said. Why don’t you tell me what all this is about?”

“It’s Felix. He didn’t come home last night, and I thought…” Isabella grimaced, her hand going to the swell of her pregnant belly.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Wright?” Cain asked gently.

“I-I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine,” Isabella said, both her expression and her voice resolute. “I just…I need to know. Is it true Felix hired you to investigate investors for Father’s research?”

Cain took a deep breath, leaning back so far in his chair that it creaked. “I’m sorry, I can’t divulge client information without their say so. Not even to a spouse. You said he didn’t come home last night? Do you have any idea where he could have gone?”

“So you don’t know where he is,” Isabella murmured. She sounded disappointed but not entirely surprised, and for a moment her perfect posture drooped. “I know it’s none of my business to interfere with whatever agreement you’ve entered with my husband, but I need to know that he’s safe and sound.”

Isabella looked up properly for the first time, a hint of steel behind large, doe eyes. She took a purse heavy with coin out of her handbag and set it on Cain’s desk.  “Mr. Cain, I would like to hire you to find my husband, and I’m prepared to pay whatever the price.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, both Isabella and Margot waiting with baited breath to see what Cain would do. At the sight of the money his expression had closed, making it impossible to guess what he was thinking. Without saying a word he took the coin purse, collected three silvers, and returned the rest.

“My initial fee. I can discuss the remaining payment with your husband once we find him. Now, Mrs. Wright, do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

Margot didn’t miss his use of pronouns.  _When we find him._ Maybe Cain was turning her into a detective after all.

“Thank you. You…you have no idea how much this means to me,” Isabella said. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “I can’t be gone long. Mother will be missing me as it is.”

“Your mother, or Felix’s?” Cain asked.

Isabella’s cheeks flushed. “Felix’s. My parents died when I was a girl. Mother…I mean, Mrs. Wright, has been so kind to bring me into the family. She insists that I be treated as if I were her own daughter.”

She twisted the handkerchief in her hands, stricken. “She wouldn’t like it if she knew I were here, Mr. Cain. Some days I feel like an imposter wearing my husband’s name, that Felix would be happier if he had married someone of his station instead of me. I’ve tried for the last eight years to understand, but I don’t think I ever will.”

“Understand what?” Cain said quietly.

“I was born common,” Isabella said, her tone and expression making it clear she felt that was something to be ashamed of. “Nothing Mother says or does will change that, and others look down on my husband for it. It wears on him.”

“Is your husband unhappy?” Cain asked.

“I don’t know!” Isabella cried, burying her hands in her head. “He won’t talk to me. All I know is he entered this stupid teleportation business to prove to his father that…well, I don’t know what exactly. They had been estranged for so long, and now he’s dead and I’m afraid. I’m afraid that Felix is going to do something foolish and get himself into trouble again.”

Margot’s eyes narrowed. “Again?”

“Let me handle the questions, Professor,” Cain murmured. He tented his fingers in front of his face, leaning forward on his elbows. “Do you know why Felix was estranged from his father?”

Isabella hesitated. “I…it was before we met.”

“Two years before?”

Her eyes widened. “How did you…?”

“You said you’d known each other for eight years. Felix’s sister was disowned two years before that. I assume you knew?”

“About Desdemona?” she said, confused. “Very little. Mother forbid anyone from talking about it. Felix only told me to explain Abigail’s…particularities.”

“You met Abigail Wright?”

“I…well, yes, she lived at the Belmont Estate until...” Isabella’s voice trailed off into troubled silence. “That has nothing to do with Felix’s disappearance now,” she insisted.

“Of course, forgive my prying,” Cain said soothingly. “We detectives don’t always know when to quit. Please, it would be of great help if there is any information you can give us that may expedite the proceedings.”

Isabella gave Cain a questioning look, as if she couldn’t quite decide what to make of the man who sat in front of her, and slowly some of her defenses lowered. She swallowed hard, and dropped her gaze. “Ten years ago Felix was engaged to another woman. When Desdemona ran away the relationship fell apart, which in turn put strain between Felix and his father. When I met him, Felix had…Felix had been cut off.”

This last sentence was breathed in a whisper so quite Margot nearly didn’t hear. Isabella couldn’t bear to look at Cain at all. Cain reached into his pocket and offered her a fresh handkerchief to use in place of the one she had wrung into knots. “Did he just have his allowance taken away, or was he in danger of being disowned as well?”

“I don’t know. Truly I don’t. Felix never spoke of it, and grew angry when I asked. He built his business on his own, without relying on his family name. Perhaps he was never the mage his father wanted, but Felix is talented in his own right. Talented enough that even his father recognized him for his worth. Eventually.” Isabella took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Of course we were married by then, and back within the good graces of the family,” she said, “But before that…when Felix was first starting out...he would take terrible risks with what little he had. He always said you couldn’t make money without spending money. I suppose he was right in the end.”

“Risks? As in business ventures?”

Isabella shook her head miserably. “No. As in gambling.”

* * *

“So you think this is the place?”

Cain shrugged his shoulders, hands in his pockets. In front of him and Margot was the raised seats of the race track. Even from the street Margot could hear the clamoring of people waiting for the next contest to begin.

“It’s as good a place to start as any,” Cain said. “The big races are always on Sunday.”

“Yeah, at noon. Who knows what scrubs will be racing at this time of day.”

“Hey, I got a good feeling about this,” Cain said defensively.

“I don’t work on feelings,” Margot said. She felt the skin around her burn pull taunt as she scowled. She was still prickly about having been cut off while talking to Isabella Wright, and she had no qualms telling him so.

“If we’re going to do this we’re going to have to work together,” Margot said. “As  _partners_. You’ve been much too mysterious of late, first with Tobe and now with this feeling of yours. What’s going on here?”

“It’s a detective thing,” he said with a grin while pulling out a fresh piece of jerky. “We like to keep things close to the vest. When we’re right it makes us look like clairvoyants, with no one knowing the wiser if we’re wrong. You shoulda seen some of the stunts Mr. Westmacott pulled when he was still in the game.”

“You aren’t wearing a vest, and you aren’t Mr. Westmacott,” Margot said sharply. “And I’m not here to be your second wheel.”

Cain stabbed the jerky in her general direction. “Hey now,  _you’re_ the one who keeps insisting you aren’t a detective. You’re a great mage, Prof, but you got to admit that you don’t always know how to get information out of people. Mrs. Wright needed a soft hand, not some ice queen act.”

“Excuse me?” Margot said.

“Listen, I’m grateful for your help. Don’t think that I’m not. But maybe it’s best if you stick to magic and let me do the detecting, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer he stomped to the gate. Margot had little choice but to follow if she wanted to have any idea what he was doing, but the argument wasn’t over. Not by a longshot.

“Five bronze for a ticket,” the dwarf manning the booth said.

“I’m here to talk to Fernando,” Cain said. He glanced back at Margot. “The lady too.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what—“

“Tell ‘em it’s Cain. He’ll know who I am.”

The dwarf looked disbelieving, but pressed one of the buttons on his waistcoat. The hair on the back of Margot’s neck prickled as a spell activated.

Soon a trio of dwarves joined the one at the booth. Each were dressed in tailored suits, their beards oiled and braided into intricate patterns. They looked from Cain, to Margot, then back again. Cain offered up a lazy grin.

“Hey Tony, remember me? I need to speak to Fernando.”

The tallest of the dwarfs, a burly redhead who had enough freckles to almost be considered tan, returned his smile. “Ah, Mr. Dashiell Cain, the hero of the Castetti family. Always a pleasure.”

The bottom fell out of Margot’s stomach. She couldn’t hide her shock, and neither could the dwarf running the booth. He squeaked, nearly toppling out of his seat in an effort to bow at Cain.

“Who’s the dame, Cain?” Tony asked. “She the one Viola was telling me about? The lady professor?”

“Just a consultant,” Cain said flatly. “D’you think I could talk to Fernando? For old time’s sake?”

“This ain’t about a client, is it?” Tony asked suspiciously. “I respect your business, Cain. I’d appreciate it if you don’t go encroaching on ours.”

Margot was still considering punching Cain right in his big, fat chin when he waved off Tony. “Not that kind of business.”

The dwarf’s eyebrows rose. “That so? Well, ain’t no harm coming in for a visit for old time’s sake then. Your lady professor got an eye for horses?”

Cain grinned, but his easygoing smile Margot had come to know had been replaced with something darker, something that was almost animal. “Best to ask her.”

One glance at her stony expression was enough for Tony. He chuckled, and with a quick gesture led them inside the stadium. “This way, fellas, let’s see what kind of business these two’ve got with Fernando.” He had the audacity to wink at Margot.

“And when they’re done with the bookie, maybe the lady’ll be so gracious as to let me show her around the horses. Ain’t nothing like ‘em in all the world.”

Margot smiled, her expression lacking the wolfishness of Cain but no less dangerous for it. She had no idea what sort of business Cain was in to be considered the hero of a notorious crime family, but she wasn’t going to stop until she found out.


	11. Bad Business

The walk to Fernando’s office was just long enough for Margot to thoroughly berate herself. She tried to keep her expression calm, but Cain’s betrayal cut deep. Margot  _knew_  not to trust him on blind faith, but they had been so busy there had been little time to do anything other than verify he was a licensed detective. Margot had allowed herself to be drawn by his affable manner and had forgotten they hadn’t even known one another a week.

Had it all been an act? When Margot thought about it, it seemed that Cain was accustomed to wearing different hats as the need arose. She remembered how he had manipulated Felix Wright into hiring him in the first place, and how different he seemed prior to their meeting with Anansi.

_Reputation is a man’s greatest and most fragile mask. Look behind it at your own risk._

It seemed like it had been an age since Anansi dispersed those words of wisdom. Of course they had been referring to Felix Wright at the time, but Margot got the feeling like she was finally getting a glimpse past the façade Cain tried so hard to maintain.

And she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

There was danger following him any further. Margot was confident in her ability to fight her way out of any situation, but that was nothing compared to the damage that would be done if someone recognized her. While the Academy’s good conduct policy didn’t  _specifically_  forbid professors from going into private meetings with known mobsters, she suspected that the Board of Directors would be none too pleased if they learned of her actions thus far.

It wasn’t funny, but Margot almost laughed anyway. Being fired was the least of her worries. This was the second time Cain had gotten her involved with the Casettis without her knowledge of consent. Already she had a known hitman talking about her with a bookie of what was likely an illegal gambling operation.  

“This way,” Tony said, leading them away from the cheering crowd to an office complex. It looked…deceptively normal. The dwarves were all in good spirits, making small talk with Cain and joking with one another. Though it was starting to get late, the sun still shone brightly in the sky. There was nothing dirty or off-putting, nothing shady that would tip off it was a center for criminal activity.

Finally Tony came to a stop and rapped his knuckles against the doorway. Like the restaurant that started this whole mess there were two entrances, one meant for dwarves and another for so-called big folk. There was no answer, and he knocked again.

“Open up, Fernando. You’ve got visitors.”

There were a few moments of silence before the door opened, revealing a silver-haired dwarf. He scowled at Tony before canting his neck up to Cain. Between a pair of dark glasses and bushy beard covering his mouth it was difficult to make out his expression. Margot supposed the glasses would almost be a necessity to keep from being blinded by the heavy rings he wore on nearly every finger. When he stroked his beard the sun glittered off of jeweled cufflinks, and it wouldn’t have surprised Margot if the chain of his pocket watch was made of gold.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, surprised.

“What kind of greeting is that, Fernando?” Cain asked. “Can’t a guy come around for old time’s sake?”

The dwarf removed his glasses and cleaned them slowly with a kerchief. “Uh huh, I suppose not, but last time we talked you didn’t seem too keen on coming back.” His eyes shifted to Margot. “You brought a lady here? What kind of gentleman brings a lady into his business?”

“She’s the professor Viola was talkin’ about,” Tony said. “The one who fought the drath.”

“The one who saw Master Wright die,” Fernando said. There was something about his tone, the ease in which he said it, that put Margot on edge. He sighed, and returned his glasses back to their proper place. “I suppose you better come in.”

Margot and Cain entered through the appropriate door as Fernando directed Tony and his men to wait for them outside. The office was fastidiously tidy, with each quill and book in place. Fernando ambled behind his desk and clapped his hands. Two chairs, made to seat dwarves, sprung up in size.

“Handy spell, that,” Fernando said as they took a seat. “Enchanted by a guy on Twelfth Boulevard. He does great work.”

“Only the best for you, Fernando,” Cain said.

“Cut the *$!!@&#*, Cain,” Fernando said. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey now, no need to be hostile—“

“And what you doing, bringing a professor from Kempeston here?” Fernando said. There was dry hoarseness to his voice that reminded Margot of a tomb. “The Wizard may be gone, but her type don’t belong here. You should know that, and if you don’t someone otta be teaching you a lesson.”

Cain frowned, and reached for a stick of jerky. His expression was passive as stone, but Margot could see the sweat beading on his forehead. She slid her gaze back to Fernando.

Despite his diminutive size, there was no doubt who was in control of the room. If the jewels weren’t already a tipoff, it would have been impossible for Margot to mistake him for a mere bookie. The dwarf wielded menace like a weapon, and they were in his territory, playing by his rules.

Silently cursing Cain’s recklessness, Margot said, “I am sitting here, you know. It might help if you give us a chance to explain ourselves.”

Fernando’s moustache twitched. He leaned back in his chair and regarded her as if she were a bit of mud he had forgotten to scrape off his shoe. “Alright Professor, I’ll bite. Why in the nine hells are you here?”

“I need to talk with Felix Wright,” Cain said. “If he’s here, I thought it better to let you know before causing a scene at your establishment. You know, as a professional curtesy.”

“And if he’s not you figured I would know where to find him,” Fernando finished for him. He leaned on his elbows, the deep furrow remaining between his brows. “And what makes you think I waste my time looking after Felix Wright?”

“Viola said your Father knew him,” Cain said with a shrug. “Figured you were in business together.”

Fernando let out a harsh bark of a laugh. “As if I’d waste my time. Give him a century or two and he might be worth the effort, but I don’t deal in uncut gemstones. Brilliant mind, but without the common sense the gods bestowed on a common pudding.”

“But you know where he is?” Cain prompted.

“Comes in often enough, braying like the ass he is.” Fernando seemed to have come to the decision that they were not a threat. He reached under his desk and pulled out a bottle of spirits and three tumblers. “Can I tempt you? You won’t find better anywhere in the country.”

“No, thank you,”

“Naw.”

“Suit yourself.” Fernando poured himself a drink and took a bracing sip. “You still haven’t answered my question, Cain: What’s the deal with the professor?”

“Professor Margot is just a consultant for a case,” Cain said.

“And what case would that be?”

Fernando set his tumbler down and laced his fingers together. The intensity returned to his gaze, hidden as it was behind dark glasses, heavy and nearly overwhelming. He moved the ring on his left thumb a quarter turn, and the hair on the back of Margot’s neck prickled.  _Magic._

Margot called on her power, ready to activate the charms in her skirts, when Cain raised a hand to stop her.

“I just want to talk to Mr. Wright,” he said calmly. “I think you’ll find it mutually beneficial.”

The dwarf rested his hands on his desk. “Yeah?”

“If nothing else I can get him out of your beard for a day or two.” Cain said.

“That’s not good enough, Cain,” Fernando said.

Margot suddenly remembered a story one of her instructors told her years ago of a snake he’d come across while traveling. Before biting it would always shake a rattle on its tail. Fernando was that rattlesnake, his words equal parts warning and threat.

“I’ve heard whispers,  _boy_ ,” he continued. “You’ve been sniffing around where you don’t belong. You better be careful were you stick your nose. One of these days it’s gonna get cut off.”

Cain’s grin returned, wolf-like to Fernando’s snake. “It’s a good thing I just want to talk to Wright junior then, isn’t it? Hells bells, I’ll even stay on premises if you’re that jumpy.” He leaned forward as if sharing some conspiracy and stage whispered, “It’s almost as if you got something to hide.”

Fernando’s lip turned down in a silent snarl, flashing a glimpse of a golden tooth. “Tony!”

The door opened immediately. “Yeah boss?”

“Find the elf and bring him here. He was in the luxury box last I saw.” He whirled back to Cain, pointing one meaty finger at his chest. “And you get out of my sight. I’ll overlook your insolence this once. But you’d do well to remember, Cain, you get away with a lot as a friend of the Family, but you  _ain’t Family_.”

* * *

 

“What in the world is going on here?”

Cain shook his head slightly, and said out of the corner of his mouth, “Not here, Prof.”

They were waiting outside of Fernando’s office, still watched by Tony’s goons. A glare from Margot was enough for them to back a respectful distance away, but there were undoubtedly surveillance spells marking their every move. Margot had already spotted two All-Seeing Eyes, only partially hidden by the natural shadows of the building. Who knew what else was watching them.

“ _Fine_ , but when this is over you  _owe me_.”

“Fair enough.” The corner of his mouth twitched…was that in regret? Or frustration? “And I know it probably doesn’t mean anything, but I am sorry.”

Margot grunted. “You better be.”

Margot was more than content to give him the cold shoulder—perhaps literally, depending on how this turned out—but the stony silence only lasted between them a moment or two before she heard Felix complaining loudly.

“I’ve paid my debts, dwarf! You have no right to bring me here. I had twenty gold riding on that race! Unhand me, you scoundrel! Unhand me at once—“ His voice shriveled into a strangled croak when he finally saw Cain and Margot.

“You!”

“Us,” Cain said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and offered his friendliest smile. “Time to go home, Wright. Your wife’s waiting in my office.”

“Isabella?” Felix’s eyebrows drew together, a slur in his voice making it sound more like  _Izbell_. His eyes were bloodshot, and Margot wondered if he was drunk or merely sleep deprived.

Margot had run out of patience either way. With a flick of her wrist she gathered a handful of water, drawing away enough heat to make it just the right side of freezing, and flung it at his face.

Felix yelped and strung together a string of Elvish curses, a few Margot recognized from her time with Lyra. It was hardly the sort of language a gentleman would use. Margot crossed her arms across her chest, unimpressed.

The scientist in her noted with clinical detachment the dark bags under his eyes, the frumpled state of his clothes, the messy disarray of his hair. The man who stood before her was nearly unrecognizable from the one she met at the mage’s conference, a mere shadow of the confident, charming man who was the face of his father’s research.

Her heart softened just a little. Estranged or not Felix  _had_ just lost his father, and people dealt with grief in different ways.

That iota of sympathy vanished when, still in Elvish, he suggested her mother had had inappropriate relations with an orc, which even if true would not have been something for Margot to be ashamed of, and she doused him a second time.

That sobered him enough to shut his mouth, and Cain shook his head. “You deserved that one, Wright. Now let’s get you home.”

* * *

 

Isabella was still waiting for them when they returned. She scrambled to her feet at the sight of them, her entire attention immediately drawn to her husband. The color left her cheeks, and her already-enormous eyes grew even wider as she covered her mouth with horror.

Stuck between Margot and Cain, Felix looked like a drowned rat. He swallowed hard, his expression crumpling with shame. “Isabella, I can explain…”

“I’m just happy you’re safe.”

Felix tried to meet his wife’s earnest expression, but was unable to.

“I know you’re eager to get him home, Mrs. Wright, but do you mind if I have a word with your husband?” Cain asked. “I private?”

Isabella looked very much like she wanted to refuse, but Cain didn’t give her the chance, half leading, half dragging Felix Wright but the collar into his office. Margot followed, and as soon as the door clicked behind them Cain traced a sigil that would prevent anyone from eavesdropping.

It was the first spell Margot had seen him perform even halfway competently, and that made her think that he was forced to use it often.

“What do you want with me?” Felix muttered as he slunk into his seat. “Have you found Desdemona yet?”

Cain took his time in answering. He drew a stick of jerky out of his pocket, but didn’t put it in his mouth. His expression was hard. “Not as of yet, no. But there were some things I wanted clear up that would be a real help.”

“Well get on with it,” Felix said irritably.

“Alright then, I’ll cut right to the chase: Where did you go after Anansi’s play?”

Felix jerked spastically and threw himself to his feet. “What do you mean where did I go? I told you, I waited for my father—“

“And you lied,” Cain said calmly. “ _Again._ ”

For a moment Felix was speechless. His eyes bulged, his lips working wordlessly as he tried to speak but couldn’t. His arms went limp by his sides, and he fell back into the chair. “You think I did it.”

Felix laughed. It started as a disbelieving chuckle and grew in volume and intensity until his whole body was shaking with it. The more he tried to stop himself the louder it got, until he was howling hysterically. At that moment Felix Wright seemed less than sane, and Margot was grateful his wife wasn’t present.

“You…you th-think  _I_ did it!” Felix managed between halting breaths. “ _Me!_  Kill my own father, when he was about to make me more money than your plebeian minds can imagine.”

“Did you hear that, Cain, we’re plebeians now,” Margot drawled.

“Uh huh.” Cain started chewing on his jerky stick. “Mr. Wright, I’m not accusing you of anything, but it is imperative that we know the truth.”

“It seems to me that you already know the truth,” Felix said.

“Not from the horse’s mouth.”

“I’m beginning to think my faith in you was misplaced, Mr. Cain.”

“Please, Mr. Wright. Every little bit helps.”

Felix snorted disbelievingly. “Well, since you asked so  _nicely_.” He straightened himself in an attempt to appear proper, but the affect was undercut by the fact he was still a wet, sopping mess.

“Everything I told you about that illusionist’s performance was the honest-to-gods truth. Father went to confront him, and I went…out.”

“Where,” Cain asked sharply.

Felix’s clenched his hands into fists. “I had just seen my sister come back from the dead. It…shook me. I needed some fresh air to clear my head. I took a walk around, and ended up at a tavern a few streets over. I stopped in for a drink.”

He looked up at Cain, and for a moment he looked vulnerable and lost. “I hadn’t gotten drunk since before my sons were born. I swore I never would again, but I just wanted to forget everything I saw. To pretend that it never happened. Some lads at the tavern started a game of cards, which turned to another and another, and before I knew it was two in the morning.

“I don’t remember making it back to the hotel, but I must have,” Felix said, slumping back into his seat. “Father was furious, of course. We argued, but nothing we hadn’t argued over before, and I was in bed by three.”

“And your father?” Cain asked.

Felix shrugged. “He was still scribbling away in his little notebook. I don’t know if he slept at all. You remember, Professor, how distracted he was when I introduced you? It wasn’t like him to forget like that.”

“What exactly did you quarrel over, Mr. Wright?” Cain said.

Felix’s expression hardened. “What you must understand, Mr. Cain, is that my father cared only for his legacy. He could have stayed on at the University with a state of the art research lab and all the assistants he could have dreamed of and finished his research in half the time, but he insisted on doing everything alone. Or as alone as he possibly could. If he could have avoided working with me he would have, but he  _couldn’t_ , and I think he resented it.”

“But that doesn’t make sense, he wrote me for help developing some of his contingency spells,” Margot said.

“Ah, but it was  _his_ idea to write you, was it not?” Felix said. “And  _his_ idea to integrate your ideas into his research. And really, with all the contingencies he had already put into his device the spellwork you contributed was largely superfluous.”

“That didn’t stop it from blowing up,” Margot said.

“No, it didn’t.” Felix got to his feet, swaying slightly. “Now if you excuse me, my wife is waiting.”

“I may need to call on you another time,” Cain said.

“I pray to any god that cares to listen that won’t be necessary, but if it is you know where to find me.”

“Just one moment,” Margot said sharply. “I get what you were doing the night before the conference, but what about today? You wife was worried sick about you.”

“That’s none of your concern, Professor. Now kindly move aside.”

Margot stared down Felix Wright, and did not budge from the door. “What’s your connection with the Casettis?”

“Professor, let the man leave,” Cain said quietly.

“Do you realize what kind of damage Master Wright’s research could do if it got into those hands?” Margot asked. “Do either of you realize?”

“So first I’m a murderer, and now I’m in the pocket of a mob family,” Felix said scathingly. “Cain, have this woman step aside, or I swear I will move her myself.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“My business is my own,” Felix said, his voice icy cold. There was a look in his eye that was eerily reminiscent of his mother at her most imposing. Still Margot did not move. She needed answers, and she knew that Felix had them.

For a split second Margot thought Felix would attempt to hit her, but with visible effort he gathered himself back under control, and a terrible grin spread across his face. “You’re fired.”

“Excuse me?”

Margot couldn’t tell if she had said the words or Cain. Perhaps they had both had, but regardless of which of them spoke Felix’s gaze never left hers.

“I said you’re fired. A man knows when it’s best to cut his losses, and it’s obvious that you two are of no help to me.”

“Mr. Wright, please, I know today’s been a difficult day for you. Maybe once you get some rest—“

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Cain,” Felix said, his voice deadly calm. “I’m thinking more clearly now than I have since my father’s death. I gave you one simple task, and that was to find Desdemona and prove her guilt, and all you’ve done is upset my mother at my father’s funeral, distress my wife, and accuse me of murder. I put too much stock into the Westmacott name to see you for what you truly are: a fraud.”

“But your father’s death…”

“I don’t care about my father’s death,” Felix said. “In fact, the more time that passes the more I realize how little I care at all. So what if he was murdered? That changes  _nothing_  except I no longer have to suffer his hubris. My business is my own, and I’m more than capable of standing on my own two feet.”

This time when he moved for the door Margot stepped aside. His wife stood waiting, pale and worried. He didn’t spare her even a look as he brushed her aside. “Come along, Isabella. We’re going home.”

Isabella looked from her husband to Cain, eyes full of questions she dare not ask. As Felix put on his hat and coat she pressed a small pouch of coins into Cain’s hands. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “His father always did bring out the worst of him.”


	12. The Thing About Elves

“That &%$#@$#  _fired_  you?”

Margot nodded. She was tired, having not slept well the night before, and had been ready to put the whole disaster behind her. Monday was a new day and a new week, and she was more than ready to start afresh.

A surprise invitation to lunch at one of her favorite restaurants didn’t change that, and Margot forced a smile. “The best I can say about the whole thing is that it’s over and done with. How was your last job?”

Lyra propped her chin on a hand and studied her in a way that made Margot’s stomach flutter. She was still in her armor, and was likely to ship out for a job later in the afternoon. They had so little time to see one another during the height of the mercenary season. Margot didn’t want to waste it complaining.

“Tell me you at least cussed him out,” Lyra said imploringly.

“I couldn’t do that,” Margot said.

“You mean you  _shouldn’t_ do that. You’re more than capable of dressing down some #$$%@&$,” Lyra said. She narrowed her eyes. “But what about the detective? It sounds like he’s eyeballs deep in a mess.”

Margot stirred her tea absentmindedly. She heard their waitress laugh with another table, and briefly her thoughts turned to Viola Cassetti. She shook that image away.

“I don’t know,” Margot said honestly. “After Mr. Wright left things got pretty heated between me and Cain.”

“Tell me.”

Something about Lyra’s tone startled Margot back to attention. Lyra’s gaze was intensely focused, never once wavering from Margot, not even when someone behind her dropped their drink and shattered the glass into a hundred pieces.

 _She wanted to know_. Margot couldn’t quite hide her surprise in time, and Lyra’s lips quirked into a crooked smile.

“Please?”

Margot laughed at the absurdity of it. “Well, if you insist. It goes like this…”

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t believe it,” Margot breathed. “The &%$#@$# fired us.”

She turned to Cain, but he didn’t seem to see her. He was left staring at the place where Felix Wright had been standing, jerky stick dangling limply from his lips.

“I told you to stay away, Cain. You never were good at listening.”

Margot whirled to see a man leaning against a doorway labeled Harris. He was a tall, lanky man with reddish-brown hair in bad need of trimming and a two-day old beard. There was a vindictive spark in his eyes that Margot didn’t like.

“Who’s he?” she asked.

“My boss,” Cain said tersely. “Took over after Mr. Westmacott left.”

“Al Harris, at your service,” he said, extending a hand. “You must be the professor that I’ve heard so much about.”

“And yet I’ve never heard of you,” Margot said. Harris’s grip tightened for a fraction of a second, and Margot pulled back as soon as was polite.

“Ah, well, Cain’s always been a bit of a glory hound. Not that I blame him, really, but this time it looks like he’s really bitten off more than he can chew. Ain’t that right, Cain?”

Cain didn’t answer.

Harris smirked. “Anyway, unless I’ve gone blind and deaf this Wright case is done for good. There ain’t no reason for you to stick around, Professor. If you’ll excuse us, I’ve got work for Cain. Good, solid work that’ll put food on the table and coin in our pockets.”

“This isn’t over,” Margot said. She turned to Cain. “Is it?”

Harris shot Cain a significant look that made a muscle in Cain’s jaw twitch. His chest swelled, as if he were drawing a breath to argue, but something in his employer’s gaze made him stop. He deflated like an old balloon, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Give me a minute, boss.”

Cain jerked his thumb back to his office, and a confused Margot followed. He rested his head against the door after closing it, knocking his hat right off of his head. He made no move to retrieve it.  

“Why didn’t you let him go?”

The plaintive question caught Margot off-guard and it took her a moment to realize he was talking about Felix Wright. “We needed answers.”

“We needed him on our side,” Cain snapped. He whirled towards her, as angry as she had ever seen him. But even in his anger he kept his voice low as he said, “Wright was the only reason I was able to work this case at all, and you cheesing him off was the last straw.”

“Don’t you dare blame this on me, Dashiell Cain,” Margot said. “It’s not my fault your client is an overgrown child with an inflated self-importance. Honestly, at this point in time it wouldn’t surprise me if he killed Master Wright himself!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Cain demanded. “Gods, I knew he was a pretentious blowhard the moment I laid eyes on him. But he was my client, and part of this job means keeping you client happy or else I don’t get paid!”

“Is this what this is about?  _Money?_ ”

“Look at me, Professor!” Cain said, gesturing at his cramped office. “I’m not like Mr. Westmacott and this isn’t some penny dreadful. I’ve lost income working this case because I believed that—“ He cut himself off suddenly, his face screwed in impotent frustration.

“It doesn’t matter. I…thank you for your help, Professor. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. But this is the end of the line. There’s nothing else I can do.”

“But what about the Wrights?” Margot asked. “What about the Cassettis? You’ve drug me into some bad situations without me knowing. What are you hiding?”

“I’m sorry. You won’t have to worry about any of that stuff again. I won’t be bothering you any more.”

Cain held open his office door for Margot. The anger was gone, leaving misery in its place. “I need you to leave. Here, I promised I’d give you these.”

Margot wanted nothing more than to argue as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled sheets of paper that held Master Wright’s research notes. She took them wordlessly, knowing that nothing good would come of it. She suspected that he was already in trouble with his boss, and it said a great deal that he was willing to part with Master Wright’s precious research willingly. Even after everything he had put her through with mobsters and murder investigations Margot didn’t want him to lose his job.

She gathered herself to leave, and as she passed made a point to look him dead in the eye.

“This isn’t over, Cain. Not by a longshot.”

 

* * *

 

Lyra listened thoughtfully to Margot’s entire tale, and when she was finished took a deep draught from her drink. When she set it back on the table she asked, “So what’s next?”

“I don’t know,” Margot said. She didn’t much like admitting her own ignorance. She tried to wash the bad taste out of her mouth with a drink of her own. “I feel like there’s so much I don’t know.”

“Like what?”

“Well, Cain for one,” Margot said. “He seemed so earnest when it came to this investigation, but if he’s tangled up with the Cassettis…”

“And it sounds like he is,” Lyra said.

“…Then I need to step lightly. I did some research on them last night, and it wasn’t pretty.”

Lyra hummed in agreement. “What else?”

“The dynamics of the Wright family don’t make any sense to me,” Margot said. “It seems like everyone hated him except Abigail, and she’s dead. Even his own wife didn’t seem all that put out at his funeral.”

“Makes perfect sense to me.”

Margot quirked an eyebrow, and Lyra grimaced. “If grew up with elves, I promise it’d make perfect sense.

Margot waited for her to continue, but she only took another drink and looked like she wished it were of the alcoholic variety. When Lyra realized Margot was looking at her she seemed to retreat into her armor, a look of sour displeasure on her face.

“I’ve only worked with elves in a professional capacity,” Margot prompted gently. “I would like to understand, if you’d teach me.”

For a moment it looked like Lyra would refuse, and Margot would have been content not to pressure her. She knew precious little of Lyra’s life growing up, except that it was an unhappy experience. It wasn’t her place to force Lyra to talk about it—even indirectly—if she didn’t want to.

Instead Lyra sighed, and with deft motions plucked the salt shaker off of the table and unscrewed the top. She dumped the contents on the table and drew a crude rectangle with a finger.

“So pretend this is Elvish society. All the little boys and girls are told from the moment they’re old enough to understand that they have to grow up to fit into this box, and if they don’t then they have no place. Women’s job is to get married and have babies, magic is the greatest area of study, the goal in life is to improve your social standing, and so on and so forth,  _ad nauseam._ ”

There was something close to bitterness her tone, hidden beneath a mocking lilt. She drew a trapezoid over the rectangle. “Of course it’s impossible to fit perfectly into the box because it’s an ideal. It  _doesn’t actually exist_ —not that that doesn’t stop people from trying, but whatever. Most, with enough pressure and social training, fit into a shape that’s close enough. They are the quote-unquote ‘normals’.” She wiped away the picture and drew a new rectangle, this time drawing a circle over top.

“Then there people who just don’t fit. Sometimes by choice, sometimes it’s by nature, but they’re outcasts. There isn’t a place for them in society. And when this happens there are three potential outcomes.”

Lyra wiped away the edges of the circle that went beyond the rectangle. “Conform, cutting away whatever parts of yourself that don’t fit.” She wiped away the salt again, and this time drew a separate rectangle and circle. “Leave and try to rebuild a new life for themselves somewhere else. Hopefully somewhere where they can find people who accept them for who they are.”

She paused, her voice strangely thick. Quietly, Margot prompted, “And the third outcome?”

Lyra looked up at her, her eyes burning like a fierce green fire. “They break.”

She wiped the salt away, the line of her mouth set in a grim line. “I guess if you were to sum it up in a word it would be  _rigid._ There isn’t much opportunity to deviate from the norm, whether its your social class or gender role or anything else. Which works out well enough if you fit in, but if you don’t...”

Lyra let her voice trail off and she shrugged. Margot hated seeing her so unhappy, and after a moment of hesitation she placed a comforting hand on top of Lyra’s. Her eyes widened in silent surprise.

“Thanks for trusting me. It means a lot.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.” Lyra’s cheeks flushed pink. “Can we please talk about something else? Like,  _anything_ else?”

Margot laughed. “You never did tell me about your last job. Your letter mentioned something about winged horses?”

 

* * *

 

 Margot was still thinking when she returned to her office. She had never given much thought to Elvish society before. There had really been no need. She of course knew of elves reputation of vanity and self-importance, but had never put much stock in it. She knew and worked with plenty of elves that were nothing like their stereotype.  _Lyra_  was as far removed from the ideal of a prim, proper, young woman as day was from night.

But stereotypes had to start somewhere, and if Lyra was right then there was an enormous pressure on the Wright family to fit into an idealized picture of a perfect family. It seemed like Felix conformed, Desdemona left, and Abigail…well, based on what Margot knew Abigail broke.

There was another option that Lyra hadn’t mentioned, but whether that was because she hadn’t considered it or didn’t think it possible Margot didn’t know.  _Change._ It was inevitable in every culture, including one as rigid and unyielding as an elf’s. Social mores of all kinds were constantly being challenged, broken, and reshaped over time.

Margot sighed quietly to herself as she sat heavily behind her desk. A spark of magic reheated a cup of stale coffee. There was so much work for her to do that had nothing to do with Master Wright or Dashiell Cain, but she couldn’t bring herself to it. She couldn’t let this go unfinished.

A flick of the wrist Conjured a pen, while another Summoned a scrap of parchment. Margot began writing everything she knew about the murder of Arthur Wright, and when she was finished she began to organize her thoughts. Unanswered questions were listed on a separate sheet of parchment.

What she came up with was this:

_Ten years ago Master Wright leaves a teaching position at an elvish university to pursue his research full time, the same year Desdemona runs away from home and is subsequently disowned after allegedly stealing a substantial amount of silver from the family manor. Shortly after, Felix’s engagement dissolves and he becomes estranged from his father before venturing off to start his own business, becoming involved the Cassettis and meeting Isabella along the way._

_Despite taking considerable risks and possibly engaging in illicit activity, Felix Wright is successful. He and Isabella are married, and the couple are welcomed back into the good graces of the family. Though he never completely reconciles with his father, Felix begins working with Master Wright._

_Three years ago Abigail Wright commits suicide, and Master Wright hires detective Conan Westmacott for a case that includes tailing his disowned daughter. Dashiell Cain watches Desdemona with little fanfare until the day she approaches Westmacott for a meeting of unknown importance._

_Days later Mr. Westmacott unexpectedly retires. Cain becomes a full-fledged detective, and also runs afoul of the Cassetti crime family._

_In the months prior to his death, Master Wright begins a correspondence with me regarding my paper on the divergence between the scientific and magical properties of elements, and uses it as an additional safeguard on his life’s work. A safeguard that goes beyond the traditional norms of magical experimentation._

_Days before Master Wright’s death Mr. Westmacott returns to Cain’s office an unopened note of thanks that reignites Cain’s interest in the case, leading him to sneak into the mage’s conference to see what he can find._

_The night before unveiling his life’s work to the public, both Master Wright and Felix attend Anansi’s show, in which the illusionist makes several references to Desdemona Wright. After the performance Master Wright goes to demand an audience with Anansi while Felix gets drunk and plays cards. The latter doesn’t return to the hotel until after two o’clock in the morning while Anansi claims he never spoke with the former in any capacity._

_Felix makes a scene with the hotel staff and is rescued by his father. They argue, and after Felix retires to bed while his father continues working._

_The day of the mage’s conference Master Wright is distracted and irritable, forgetting that he had invited me to the unveiling. Desdemona is seen shortly before the explosion by Cain, who manages to sneak his way into the conference. An unknown, catastrophic failing causes a thermal runaway reaction, causing the teleportation device to overheat and explode, killing Master Wright and injuring Felix Wright._

_Desdemona’s whereabouts after the incident remain unknown._

_Cain’s connection with the Cassettis remain unknown_

_Felix’s connection with the Cassettis remain unknown_

_The Cassetti’s interest in Master Wright’s research remain unknown_

_The details of the case that led to Mr. Westmacott’s retirement remain unknown_

_The sender of the thank you letter remains unknown_

_The circumstances surrounding Abigail’s death remain unknown_

_The reason Desdemona ran away remains unknown_

_Anansi’s reason for performing the Death of Desdemona remains unknown_

_Whether Master Wright confronted Anansi remains unknown_

_The exact cause of the explosion remains unknown_

Margot stared at the parchment and rubbed her forehead. There were too many  _unknowns_  and not nearly enough answers, so many that she was nearly overwhelmed by looking at them. All this time she had been running from one place to the next, but the only thing she had succeeded in doing was bring up more questions.

A sharp knock at the door snapped her out of her reverie. Hurriedly she slid the parchment into the pocket of her dress and took a bracing swig of her stale, now lukewarm coffee.

“Come in.”

Margot expected the door to open to the friendly face of Ford or Hikaru or any one of her colleagues at the Academy. What she got was the proud, regal personage of Adeline Wright.

Still in deep mourning, Master Wright’s widow swept into the office with the grace of a black swan. Grey eyes that missed nothing scanned the modest interior with vague disapproval before tracking back to Margot. “Good afternoon, Professor. I do hope you’ll forgive me for calling unexpectedly. I have much to discuss with you that cannot wait.”

Without waiting for an invitation she took a seat opposite Margot and folded her gloved hands across her lap, grimacing as if the simple action of sitting at the same level as Margot caused her physical pain. “I don’t wish to keep you from your work, but I have been speaking with my son.”

“Oh?” Margot said, masking her surprise with another sip of coffee.

“It seems that the death of his father has led him to several…indiscretions. I would like to apologize on his behalf. I’ve already spoken to Mr. Cain, but I feel like the gravitas of the situation requires me to discuss the matter with you as well.”

It took a moment before Margot realized what Mrs. Wright reminded her of. On more than one occasion she had had the misfortune of dealing with the parents of unruly students, begging for a chance at a passing grade or a second chance after they had been kicked out of her class.

Margot had a feeling that Mrs. Wright wouldn’t do something as undignified as  _beg_ , but she didn’t doubt that there was an ulterior motive for her presence in her office. Margot wondered what it was.

“Felix is a grown man, Mrs. Wright. Surely he can make his own apologies.”

“My son is not well. He is at home convalescing after his distressing ordeal, an ordeal he would not have had to endure if not for the machinations of yourself and Mr. Cain,” Mrs. Wright said. The corner of her mouth turned with displeasure. “After all, it was you who put in his head that his father was murdered.”

She cut Margot off before she could protest. “My son is grieving. Whether from ignorance of malice, you and Mr. Cain have taken advantage of him while in a vulnerable state. Both of you ought to be ashamed of your outrageous behavior and grateful that I do not intend pursue the matter further unless forced.”

Mrs. Wright paused. She studied Margot, her grey eyes cold and calculating, and when she spoke her tone was frigidly polite. “I am willing to overlook your emotional manhandling of my son, but this sordid business ends today. My husband died in an accident. A tragic, horrible accident that nearly took the life of the one you are so desperate to accuse. And in return for my silence, I expect you to keep yours.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Margot said.

“Then allow me to speak plainly: If you continue to sully my son’s good name I am willing and prepared to fight fire with fire. One word, Professor, and I will ensure you become a  _persona non grata_  within the academic community. With my connections there’s not a school in the country that would hire you.”

Margot blinked, and slowly leaned back in her seat. There was a part of her, the contrarian that wanted to do nothing more than do what she was told she shouldn’t, but in the back of her mind she heard Cain’s voice.

_Some people need a light touch, Prof. You need information, not to scare her away._

“I apologize if I’ve caused you any great distress, Mrs. Wright, but your son hired Mr. Cain because he thought the accident might be more than an accident. Don’t you want to be sure?”

“My husband is  _dead,_ ” Mrs. Wright said, her voice hard as flint. She lifted her chin imperiously and asked, “Do you have children, Professor?”

“I don’t.”

“Then it is impossible for you to understand. Now that my husband is gone my love and duty is towards my children, and I would see Felix and Isabella succeed in society. The idea that Arthur was murdered is an insult not only to my husband’s memory but to the  _proper_  authorities who are investigating the accident.”

“Have they found out why the teleportation device exploded?” Margot asked.

“Whether they have or haven’t is none of your business, Professor,” Mrs. Wright said. “ _None_ of this is your business. Again I repeat myself: I will overlook you and that orc’s disgraceful behavior as a token of thanks for your heroics at the mage’s conference. All that I ask is that you leave my son to grieve in peace.”

Mrs. Wright rose to her feet, leaving the  _or else_ implied but clearly understood. She spared Margot one last, withering glare, before spinning primly towards the door. “Good day, Professor.”

She left, and Margot let out a breath. She felt like she’d just survived a whirlwind. 

“What to do, what to do, what to do,” Margot murmured to herself. She finished the last of her coffee and retrieved her notes from her pocket, grateful that Mrs. Wright had not seen them.

Margot stared at the pages for a long while without really seeing, her interaction with Mrs. Wright churning in her mind. Did she truly believe Master Wright’s death was an accident? Was there something she knew? Had the official investigation turned up any answers?

She held up Master Wright’s formula. The pages were crumpled and worn from repeated foldings and spending extended periods of time in Cain’s magical pocket. If she could just understand them…but no. Even decoded, a large portion near the center of the pages was blank, likely representing the areas of Master Wright’s notebook that were destroyed in the explosion.

Mrs. Wright had been perfectly clear. If Margot chose to pursue this her career was at risk. She had little doubt Mrs. Wright had the clout to make good on her promise.

The thing was, Margot didn’t much like being told what to do, and the only thing Mrs. Wright had succeeded in was reigniting the spark of curiosity that had led her to allying with Cain in the first place.

With a flick of the wrist Margot Conjured a pen, and scrawled on the bottom of her list of unanswered questions

_Mrs. Wright’s whereabouts at the time of the murder remain unknown._


	13. Starting Afresh

After taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Margot came to a decision. She tidied her office and doused the lights, locking the door behind her before striding purposefully across campus.

The Academy was still disconcertingly quiet, absent the students that filled it with life, but by now construction had begun on the hole caused by the drath. Margot smiled at the professors she passed and gave a greeting to the custodian who always tried to cheer students on during final exams. It only took a few minutes to reach the office of the academic dean, growing only more certain that she was making the right choice even if she dreaded having this conversation.

The dean was not busy, her door open. Margot knocked quietly before letting herself in. Professor Graves had only recently stepped into her position after Master Wu’s unexpected retirement and the flurry of staffing changes that followed. Margot thought she was capable, if slightly overwhelmed by the upheaval, and hated that she was about ready to make her job that much harder.

“Professor, what a pleasant surprise. I feel as if I never see you these days,” Graves said.

“It’s been rough. I’m up to my eyeballs in work,” Margot said.

She regretted her choice of metaphor as Grave’s gaze flickered to her burn. “I know how you feel. What can I do for you today?”

“I need to take some time off.”

“Whatever for?” Graves asked.

“Personal reasons. I’m sorry, I can’t say more than that right now,” Margot said.

Graves studied her, lips pursed into an unhappy line. “Is this about the conference?”

“I—well, kind of,” Margot admitted, surprised by her astute observation.

“Do you plan to be back with us by the start of term?”

“Yes.”

“Will you have time to prepare for your new courses?”

“I should.”

“Then take all the time you need, Professor,” Graves said. Her attention returned to her paperwork, and she scowled as if she found the stacks of parchment personally offensive. “To be honest, I’m surprised you returned to us so quickly.”

“You are?” Margot said.

Graves’ eyebrows crept toward her hairline, and without looking up said, “My dear, you witnessed the death of a generational talent, and that’s not counting what you experienced with all…this.” She gestured vaguely at Margot’s person. “I would be surprised if you  _weren’t_ traumatized.”

Margot opened her mouth to inform her that she didn’t  _feel_  traumatized, only to promptly shut it again. She was getting what she needed. That was all that mattered.

“Thank you.”

“Take care of yourself, Professor. I can’t afford to replace you.”

Margot nodded and took her leave. If she hurried she could make it to the Red Griffin Inn in time.

* * *

 

The sun was starting to sink low in the sky before she found Cain sitting at a bench the middle of the city’s most popular park. He was sprawled along a bench at the edge of a small pond, his hat weighing down the day’s paper and his head rolled back as if he were taking a nap. Only the occasional tap of his fingers keeping a time to a beat only he could hear belied him. A stick of jerky stuck straight up in the air.

Margot felt lucky to have seen him before he saw her. She took a deep, steadying breath, trying to gather herself after spending the majority of her day gallivanting from one end of the city to the other. In one hand she clutched a notebook where she recorded the fruit of her labors.

When she felt like she had her thoughts sufficiently organized she approached him. She stopped just shy of his bench and opened her mouth to speak. Before she could say anything Cain smiled.

“What’re you doing here, Prof?”

“How’d you know it was me?” Margot said.

He tapped the side of his nose. “You wear a real nice perfume. Real understated. I know a lot of ladies who like to douse themselves, but you aren’t one of them.” He cracked open an eyelid. “Hey, d’you mind stepping a few feet to the side? You’re blocking my view.”

Bemused, Margot did what he asked. Cain shut his eyes once more and sighed. “What do you want, Professor? I told you the case is done. I’m sorry that I did you wrong, but there’s not much I can do about it now.”

“You’re not the only one who’s incorrigibly curious, Mr. Cain,” Margot said primly. “And I’m not content to let this be.”

This pronouncement did not have the intended effect, and Cain’s mouth only twisted in a self-deprecating smirk. “Yeah? And what are you planning to do when you get sued to the Tributine and back for defamation of character by one of the richest elves in the country?”

Margot’s eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms across her chest. “See, this is what I don’t understand about you. You were so invested in this case, and now you’re willing to throw it all away. And what for, because your boss said so? Because some elf whined to his mother that the big, scary orc didn’t play nice?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Prof.”

“My job is in as much jeopardy as yours. More, maybe, if Adeline Wright has half the connections I think she does. That’s not going to stop me, and I didn’t think it would stop you. So answer me, Dashiell Cain,  _What are you so afraid of?_ ”

Cain’s fingers stopped tapping and his jaw stopped chewing. Slowly he sat himself upright, his expression like it had been cut from stone. The setting sun cast deep shadows under his horned brow, obscuring his eyes and making it difficult to tell what, if anything, he was thinking.

“You ought to be more careful with what sort of questions you ask, Prof. I learned that the hard way.”

“I know your connection to the Cassetti family.”

Cain went completely still, as Margot noticed he often did when caught by surprise. “Who told you?”

“No one,” Margot said. “I figured it out for myself.”

Cain had no response.

“I thought it was a strange coincidence that you were involved with the dwarven counterfeiting case that made Anansi famous  _and_ the Cassetti family, so today after lunch I went to the Red Griffin Inn and asked Anansi if they happened to have a copy of the play. After all, Mr. Westmacott made sure it was completely accurate, down to the little boy who helped bust the case wide open.”

Cain swore, and scrubbed his face with his hands.

“From there it was just a matter of matching dates with headlines. Did you know the city library keeps record of all the newspapers going back fifty years? It was painfully tedious, but I think I’ve got it figured out.

“You mentioned your grandfather was a carpenter, and I assume that it’s through him your father got his start in construction work. Fifteen years ago he was hired by some dwarfs for a project with some…unique specifications. The money was good enough that he kept his head down and his mouth shut. Am I right so far?”

“Almost,” Cain said, his voice low. “My father took pride in doing good, honest work. It never crossed his mind that there might be others who were less scrupulous. He never suspected a thing.”

“He had no idea he was building a safe house for Vito St. Claire, the ringleader of the counterfeiters?” Margot said.

“None.”

His tone dared her to argue, but Margot only shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. What matters was you spent time at your father’s construction sites and overheard some fairly damning conversations by St. Claire’s goons.” She tilted her head. “You’re lucky they didn’t have you killed.”

“They didn’t know I heard, or if they did they didn’t think I understood,” Cain said. “I was just a kid.”

 _You were nine years old and spying on mobsters_ , Margot thought. “You took your information to Mr. Westmacott.”

“Mr. Westmacott figured out I knew something important,” Cain corrected. “He’d been working the case since the beginning and had a pretty good idea what was what, but he had no way of proving it.” He chuckled quietly to himself. “I didn’t realize how big a deal it was. I just wanted those jerks to stop treating my dad like dirt when he was doing his best to make their stupid house exactly how they wanted.  _Mr. Westmacott_ was the one who took the information and used it to set up a sting that caught the counterfeiter, and it was Mr. Westmacott who flipped the counterfeiter to work on his side so he could take down the whole operation. I just…I just stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong.”

“And I’m sure it didn’t hurt that St. Claire’s gang was in the middle of a war with the Cassettis, diverting time and resources away from the counterfeiting ring that was making them rich. A war that they were winning handily,” Margot said. She hesitated a moment. The newspapers had no way of confirming exactly what happened next, and she didn’t like having to piece together the rest of the story on circumstantial evidence and guesswork.

“The Cassettis were in a bad way. So much so they promoted sixteen year old Viola Cassetti within their ranks and had her tailing known hotspots for the St. Claire family, including your father’s construction site. The night of Mr. Westmacott’s sting Viola assaulted one of the strongest capos in St. Claire’s gang, putting him into a coma. She knew she could get away with it with no recompense…because you told her about Mr. Westmacott’s plan.”

Cain hung his head. “Close enough. I didn’t know about Mr. Westmacott’s plan any more than anyone else, but I did know he was on the case. No one escaped his grasp for long, not even St. Claire, and that made springing an attack worth the risk.” He ran his fingers through his unruly hair, causing it to spike in every direction. “Turns out dwarfs don’t like it when you mess with their money. Viola didn’t have an order to take out that capo. But counterfeiting’s a sin dwarves don’t stand for. The only reason she didn’t kill him is because she thought he was dead.”

Cain laughed bitterly. “I thought she was a good guy, just like Mr. Westmacott. She said I’d be a hero for telling her exactly what I told him. That I’d never be hurting for friends when I got older. I didn’t have many friends as a kid. I bought it hook, line, and sinker.”

“You were a child,” Margot said.

“A man almost died because I told someone something I shouldn’t,” Cain said. His hands bunched into fists, tendons pulling taunt against his skin. “St. Claire and his gang were trash, but no one deserves that. I spent  _years_ thinking I’d done the right thing. I only found out the truth after I started working for Mr. Westmacott for real. I swore I’d make things right by taking down the Cassettis like Mr. Westmacott did St. Claire. I was already their savior, I thought it would be easy.”

He shook his head. “Nothing’s that easy. I’ve mucked up more things than I’ve got right, and now that Mr. Westmacott’s gone I don’t know who to turn to fix things. My boss is already in their pocket, so are half my contacts with the cops. They think I’m just as dirty as they are, and maybe I am. I’ve done some pretty stupid things trying to get them to trust me, and it never works.”

“You’re a friend of the family, but you aren’t family.”

“Exactly,” Cain said, defeated. “I need a fresh start. That means my own office and my own reputation separate from Harris  _or_ the Cassettis.”

“That’s why you took this case. It would be your big break,” Margot said.

“Not just that, but I thought I could finish out the case that made Mr. Westmacott retire.” His lips curled downward, the frustration evident in his voice. “He had a way of taking the biggest mess and pulling apart the strings one by one until everything made sense. Since he left  _nothing’s_ made sense. What sort of case could make the man who took out Vito St. Claire run away in shame?

“I believe Master Wright was murdered,” Cain said firmly. “And I believe it was pure luck that more people didn’t die with him. But now that Wright junior’s fired us I don’t have a leg to stand on, and I can’t afford to make any more mistakes. Not with the Cassettis, Harris, and the Wrights all against me.”

Silence rung through the park. The wind shifted, and Cain almost couldn’t keep his hat from flying away in the breeze. The sun was almost completely below the tree line, and the few people that remained would soon be heading home.

It was time to make a decision.

“So that’s all of it,” Margot said. “A lack of a client is really what’s keeping you away?”

“Well, yeah,” Cain said. “If Harris finds out I’m working unauthorized he’ll fire me. He’s been itching for an excuse for ages now. I don’t have enough reputation or savings to set out on my own. Not yet.”

“Alright, if that’s how it is” Margot rummaged in her handbag until she found her coin purse. “Mr. Cain I would like to employ your services on a case. I was nearly killed in an explosion at a mage’s conference that I’m certain was intentional, and I would like you to find out the perpetrator. I believe this will cover your initial fee.”

Margot thrust the coins in Cain’s hands before he could react and stared him dead in the eye. “Now get off your big green butt and come with me. We have work to do.”

“Are you kidding me, I can’t just leave,” Cain said.

“Sure you can,” Margot said. “Tobe’s waiting for us at the gate. He said you were too mopey to listen to his report from the errand you sent him on.”

“You drug  _Tobe_ into this?” Cain said, laughing in disbelief.

“I’ve had a very productive afternoon,” Margot said, not quite hiding her victorious smirk in time. “When I was at the Red Griffin Inn I asked Gudrid if she knew where his hangout was. I figured if anyone knew were all the urchins hung out it would be her. Now are you coming or not?”

“You don’t get it, Prof. I literally can’t leave. I’m working a case.” He craned his head and said in a hushed tone. “You see that gent back there?”

Margot followed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“His wife thinks he has eyes for another woman.”

“Does he?” Margot asked.

“Not quite. Just watch.”

A second man stepped out of the shadows, and Margot had to quickly pretend that she was searching for something in her handbag as his gaze swept suspiciously over the emptying park. Once assured that no one was watching he kissed the first gentleman on the cheek, and the two began walking briskly toward the exit. Neither were so bold as to hold the other’s hand, but Margot recognized the lovelorn look of someone who wished they could.

“Oh my,” Margot murmured.

“That was the wife’s brother. Case closed. I’ll have my report for Harris in the morning,” Cain said, just a hint of glee at the scandal in his voice. He rose to his feet and placed his hat back on his head, before looking down at Margot as if she were a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out how to solve.

“You sure about this, Prof?” he asked. “I know I said it before, but I mean it for real this time. This is a line that can’t be uncrossed.”

“Do you promise to be honest with me?” Margot asked in return. “And not to rope me into any ridiculous schemes without telling me first?”

He scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, that was pretty rotten of me. I forget sometimes you aren’t a detective. I’m willing to call it a wash and start over. That is if you let me?”

Cain struck out his hand, a hopeful expression that was almost painful to behold on his face. Margot shook her head ruefully, and clasped it with her own.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Cain.”

His grin widened, and he said, “My friends call me Dash.”


	14. Finding Desdemona

With the formalities out of the way, Margot started to where Tobe was waiting. As they were walking Dash asked, “How’d you even find me?”

“I looked for you at your office and asked the secretary,” Margot said. “It wasn’t that difficult.”

That elicited a quiet chuckle. “We’ll make a detective out of you yet.”

“That reminds me. Here, you might want to keep a hold of these in that pocket of yours.” Margot pulled the loose sheets out of her notebook containing Master Wright’s research, but Dash waved her off.

“You keep a hold of it, Prof. I think out of the two of us you’re more likely to get good use of it. Besides.” He glanced at her sidelong. “It could be dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Margot said, but tucked them back in her notebook regardless. “They’re no good to anyone if we can’t get them decoded. Do you think any of your contacts would tell you what the official investigation’s come up with?”

“Maybe. I can look into it.”

Having a plan of action suited Dash. He stood a little straighter, his whole posture more relaxed and friendly. He adjusted his coat as Tobe melted out of the shadows just outside the park (he had refused to go inside for reasons Margot found unfathomable) and gave a lazy wave of greeting.

“Looks like the lady got you outta your funk,” the boy said, peering up at Dash though narrowed eyes. “I thought you’d put me through all that work for nothin’.”

“I wouldn’t call a handful of coins nothing, Tobe,” Dash said. “And yes, the professor has knocked some sense into me.”

“Margot.”

Dash turned to look at her. “What?”

“My name is Margot,” she said. “If we’re going down together, it might as well be on friendly terms.”

Dash’s grin spread enormously wide. “Can’t deny it.” He returned his attention to Tobe. “So what’ve you got for us? Did you find her?”

“Yeah. There’s a pretty elf that works at that dump. Brown hair, wears it long. Talks like she was schooled somewhere real fancy.” A wicked glint entered his eye. “But that ain’t all I found.”

“Wait, wait, wait, you had him looking for  _Desdemona Wright?”_  Margot asked incredulously.

“Was a hunch,” Dash said with a shrug. “I thought it real strange that Anansi was hanging out at that playhouse by the waterfront. Even if he was expecting you to find him, people don’t just sit themselves in an unfamiliar place. Anansi had a reason for being there.”

“But what does that have to do with Desdemona?” Margot said.

“Anansi got that poem somewhere,” Dash said. He fished out a stick of jerky and began chewing with methodical thoughtfulness. “It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise. An anonymous author? Him making an illusion of an elf lady when Wrights senior and junior were both in the audience? Honestly I thought Anansi might  _be_ Desdemona, but if he was the one who wrote the play for Mr. Westmacott fifteen years ago then the timeline doesn’t check out. If the two haven’t been in contact I’ll eat my hat.”

He looked down at Tobe. “What else have you got?”

Tobe held up an expectant hand. “You paid me to find the lady, and I did. Anything else is gonna cost you extra.”

“Tobe, I swear if not for you I’d be a millionaire,” Dash sighed.

“Pleasure doing business,” Tobe said, and once Dash paid he pulled a small, grimy envelope from the inside of his vest. Dash took it with the greatest suspicion, and then went completely still when he looked inside.

“Dash?” Margot asked.

“Tobe, you magnificent scoundrel, that’s worth double,” Dash breathed. He fished more coins out of his pocket and thrust them at the boy. Tobe grinned, exposing a missing eyetooth.

“Toldja you’d like it.”

Dash grunted his agreement and with two thick fingers pulled out a single hair, holding it to the dying light. “You sure it’s hers?”

“Are you sure the lady ain’t a better detective than you?” Tobe challenged. “I tried to show you yesterday but you were off being stupid ‘cause some dame yelled at you.”

“That’s not why—“ Dash cut himself off, recognizing a lost argument when he saw one. “You know what, never mind. Thank you, Tobe. Is there anything else?”

“Naw.” Tobe shoved his hands in now-heavy pockets and looked up at Margot, cheeky grin firmly in place. “Keep him in line, Professor. He’s the best cash cow I’ve got.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Tobe laughed impishly and dashed out of sight. Margot watched him until he was swallowed by the darkness. “Do you think he’ll be okay alone?”

“He’s as alone as he wants to be, Prof—Margot,” Dash said. He tucked the hair back into the envelope, suddenly sheepish. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stick with professor. It suites you.”

Margot smiled. “Whichever you prefer. Now tell me, do you know how to track Desdemona with that thing, or am I going to have to do it for you?”

* * *

Tracking a person with magic was one of those things that was easily done but difficult to master _._ A great deal mattered on what material was used (blood was best), the quantity that was present (a single hair without a follicle was suboptimal), how far away the target was (they had no idea where Desdemona was hiding), and the control of the mage.

Control was something Margot had in spades, so it was decided that she would be the one to conduct the spell. Together she and Dash went to the waterfront playhouse where Dash was convinced she had met with Anansi.

Once they arrived Margot found a convenient bench under a lantern and rummaged through her bag until she found the small sewing kit that she never left home without. Dash stood guard behind her, looking tough and dangerous so she was left alone while she worked.

“Envelope please,” Margot said. Dash handed it over without question, curiosity painfully evident on his face.

Margot used the single hair to thread her needle, tied it off, and then wrapped the tail around the shaft of the needle. A spark of magic kept it from unraveling again.

“We don’t know why, but magic works best when you can link the metaphysical energy to the familiar. Perhaps it’s the only way our finite minds can understand the more abstract aspects of our spells, perhaps it’s a simple mental block that none but the best mages can overcome. Perhaps there’s some fundamental law governing magic that we don’t yet understand.”

Reaching behind her, she plucked a stray leaf that somehow managed to attach itself to Dash’s coat and wove her needle through. Then calling on her magic, Margot gathered a small pool of water to the cup of her hand.

“When I was small I read an adventure book where the heroine had to make their own compass to navigate a haunted forest. Imagine my surprise when I learned with the proper tools  _anyone_ could make their own compass.”

Water was the element Margot worked with best, so that was what she used for the basis of her spell. She fixed the image of her makeshift compass leading to Desdemona Wright. The single hair, not a magnet, polarized her needle. Magic flowed unhindered through the water in her palm, sparking something that was almost life into the dead cells of Desdemona’s hair.

The needles spun wildly, and Margot could feel Dash’s excitement rising. It finally settled, the sharpened point indicating they should head west, into the heart of the waterfront district.

“Did it work?” Dash asked.

 _What does it look like?_ Margot thought to herself irritably. “She’s within the range of the spell for now. We should hurry before she moves.”

* * *

If Margot’s first trip to the waterfront was tense, her nighttime dalliance with Dashiell Cain was downright uncomfortable. People had a way of knowing who did and didn’t belong, and Margot was especially out of place.

Between Dash’s size and Margot’s burns they stuck out like a sore thumb. It was almost tempting to step away from the well-lit streets.  _Almost._  Margot didn’t know this area of town well, and confident as she was of her ability it was wiser not to invite trouble.

But while Margot felt uneasy Dash seemed to be in his element. He exchanged greetings with those they passed, and more than once they were forced to stop as he made small-talk with the locals. Each of these conversations followed a similar beat, chatting and being generally friendly. The longest of these conversations involved him buying a shish kabob from a street vendor.

“Are you done?” Margot said under her breath.

“Just checking the pulse, Prof,” Cain said. “Who knows, might come in handy someday. Besides, it doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere.”

He was right; Margot’s compass had not moved. Suppressing a sigh, Margot moved on.

As he worked, Margot got the impression that this was where Dash truly thrived. Rather than the high profile cases that made his mentor famous, he was an ordinary man who enjoyed working with ordinary people.

Margot sincerely hoped that one day he would have the opportunity to do just that.

Finally the needle turned at a narrow street. The road, or perhaps it was better described as a glorified alleyway, was packed dirt with deep ruts caused by countless carriages. The street sign that marked it as the Plumet Road was crooked and worn.

Margot and Dash shared a glance and plunged into the darkness. Without being asked Dash called light to his hand, his magic bright orange.

“Lead on, Prof.”

Together they were led to the steps of a tall, narrow building that Margot guessed was rented housing. Cautiously she pounded the heavy brass knocker against aged wood.

The door opened a crack, revealing little more than an eye, while a man’s voice said, “Who is it?”

“My name is Mr. Cain, and my associate here is Professor Margot of Kempeston Academy. We have business of a professional nature with one of your tenants.”

The door opened wider. A squat man of about fifty peered up at Dash suspiciously. “Which tenant?”

“In addition to being of a professional nature, our business is also confidential. Please may we come inside?” Dash said.

The man considered this for a few moments, his gaze sweeping from Margot, to Dash, and back again. After his contemplation he reached into his pocket and pulled out a smooth black stone.

“Say that one more time.”

“Our business is professional in nature and also confidential?” Dash said, confused.

A rune on the stone flashed white, and the man nodded in satisfaction. “If you was lying it’ve turned red.” He opened the door the rest of the way. “Hurry up and then be off with you. I run a respectable place.”

Dash tipped his hat in thanks. Margot indicated that they were to go up to the second floor, wincing as the stairs groaned in protest. From there it was a short walk down a dingy and poorly lit hallway. The needle led them to a door marked number 7 and Margot raised her hand to knock.

“Hold on, Prof,” Dash said under his breath. He leaned an ear to the door and whispered a few words Margot couldn’t catch. He listened for a full minute, Margot growing more and more anxious that someone would come out and demand to know what they were doing. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he pulled his head back.

“Couldn’t catch anything specific, but I think there’s only one person inside,” he said. Then, indicating to the compass, “Better get rid of that.”

Margot hurried to stuff the leaf and needle into her bag while he knocked. She barely finished dissipating the water back into the air before the door opened to the astonished face of Desdemona Wright.

As soon as she saw who it was she slammed the door shut, but Dash was quicker. He stuck a foot in the doorway, wincing only a little at the force she used.

“ _Go away_ ,” the elf hissed, her voice pure venom. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Miss Wright, I only want—“

“I’m no Wright. My father made sure of that ten years ago.”

“Alright, fair enough. What would you preferred to be called then?” Dash asked.

“I would  _prefer_  if you go away, Mr. Cain. Now remove your foot or I’ll scream. Don’t think that I won’t.”

Dash’s eyes lit up. “You remember me?”

“I try to remember all of my stalkers, Mr. Cain, and I’ll have you know that I’ve a policy of not allowing them into my living quarters.”

Margot couldn’t help it. She laughed, and was forced to bite her knuckle to smother it. Desdemona turned her attention from Dash.

“I see you’ve brought a lackey this time around. Both of you ought to be ashamed.”

“I assure you the professor is no lackey, Miss Desdemona,” Dash said. “She’s my client and is helping me figure out who caused the explosion that took your father’s life. Now I get that you two didn’t get along the best, but that fire would have been deadly if not for her. More deadly, anyway.”

Desdemona’s grip on her door slackened. “You’re not working for my brother?”

“He fired me,” Dash said cheerfully. “And then your mother threatened to have my license revoked and the professor fired. Lovely people, your family is. I’ll tell you all about it if you let me in.”

There was a heartbeat of hesitation. “Now isn’t a good time.”

“Too bad.”

Dash shouldered the door, wrenching it from Desdemona’s grasp as he forced his way inside. Margot danced in behind him before Desdemona could force it shut again.

Desdemona was rightfully furious, but she did not scream. Candles lit her small living area, bathing the room in a soft light that gave the entire space a homey atmosphere. The space was tidy, but not fastidiously so, and it appeared that they had interrupted Desdemona from a late supper.

The woman herself bore a striking resemblance to her mother, both in appearance and bearing. Resentment smoldered in dark brown eyes, her posture regal and proud. The only thing Desdemona seemed to inherit from her father was his mousey brown hair and thin blade of a nose, too long to be considered conventionally attractive but suiting her well.

She jutted her chin out, and said in a scathing tone, “Are you happy now, Mr. Cain? Were you so discontent with hounding me in public that you must invade my personal privacy as well?”

“I need to talk with you, Miss Desdemona,” Dash said calmly. “I would prefer to do this nicely, but you’ve been making yourself hard to find.”

“And yet here you are.”

While they went back and forth Margot wandered deeper into the apartment. The furniture was serviceable, cheap but no dilapidated. A charming landscape painting decorated the wall, for there was no window. Her cookware seemed to be in good condition, a fading floral pattern painted on both the dishes on the table and those setting near the wash bin.

“Just where do you think you’re going?!”

The exclamation, directed at her, made Margot stop in her tracks. “You have a lovely home, Miss Desdemona.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Desdemona said. “To  _either_ of you. Now  _leave_ or I’ll start yelling. Don’t think I won’t.”

It was the second time she had threatened to scream, but through the entire conversation she hadn’t raised her voice above a strained whisper. Margot frowned. Something wasn’t right. Desdemona had nothing to lose by causing a racket and everything to gain. Why wasn’t she forcing them out?

Two sets of dishes, one at the table and another at the wash bin. Perhaps they were left over from a previous meal, but…

_Now isn’t a good time._

Someone else was in the apartment. Someone Desdemona didn’t want them to find.

Slowly Margot stepped back to Dash. There was no room for someone to hide here except behind the door that led to Desdemona’s bedroom. Margot supposed that together she and Dash could rush Desdemona, but that seemed like a gross invasion of personal privacy, even in these circumstances.

“I’m sorry we interrupted your meal,” Margot said. “We didn’t realize you had company.”

“The only company I’ve had tonight is you, and you’ve worn out your welcome,” Desdemona said. “Now  _leave_.”

“Not until we get answers,” Dash said. His eyes had glued to the bedroom door at the mention of  _company_. “I’m a patient guy, got all the time in the world to wait. How about you, Prof?”

“I’ve got all night,” Margot said, her voice velvety soft.

“Don’t you want to find out who bumped off your old man?” Dash asked.

“Not particularly,” Desdemona said. She managed to keep calm as she moved to block their view of the bedroom door. “If you ask me, it was probably my mother.”

“Your mother?” Dash parroted.

“My mother wanted what all upstanding women want: a picture perfect family. That isn’t what she got, and I’m sure by now the resentment’s nearly killing her,” Desdemona said bitterly. “They can all rot for all I care.”

“That doesn’t sound very good, coming from you,” Margot said.

“It’s the truth. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Desdemona’s hands clenched into fists. “My father deserved everything he got and more for how he treated…how he treated his family. I didn’t kill him, but I applaud whoever did.”

Dash cocked his head. “Seems kinda extreme. I mean, yeah he disowned you, but I heard you stole a whole bunch of silver from the family.”

Desdemona’s laughed. It was a lovely laugh, like silver bells, but something about it caused a chill to go through Margot’s spine.

“This isn’t about me,” she said. “None of this is about me.”

“Then who is?” Dash demanded. “What are you hiding?  _Who_ are you hiding?!”

“I told you! I didn’t kill my father. I’ve had nothing to do with him for ten years. This is the last time I’ll warn you, get out, or—“

“Dessy, stop.”

Whatever Desdemona had been planning to say died in a strangled croak as all three people standing in the living room whirled to the bedroom door. The color left Desdemona’s face as a young woman quietly shut the door behind her. She shared an uncommon resemblance to Desdemona, even for a sister.

For a moment no one could speak. The strength left Desdemona’s knees and she collapsed into the nearest chair and buried her head in her hands. The second woman took a step forward, regret in her large, grey eyes.

“I’m sorry, Dessy, but they weren’t going to leave. Not this time.”

Dash took off his hat and placed it across his chest. He swallowed hard, and with reverent wonder asked, “Am I wrong in saying I have the pleasure of addressing Miss Abigail Wright?”

The woman looked away, her shoulders curling in on themselves as she gave the smallest of nods. When she spoke her voice was tiny, and Margot had to strain to hear her say,

“You do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably have spaced these chapters further apart...or edited them more...or not stayed up till two in the morning to finish...but I had the day off and writing on the brain. I've wanted to get to this part of the story for so long, y'all have no idea. I almost named this chapter 'The Third Act Twist'. 
> 
> We're getting close-ish to the end. Maybe three more chapters? Depending on how long they are? Who do you all think murdered Arthur Wright?


	15. The Life and Death of Abigail Wright

The tension was thick and heavy. A thousand questions tumbled in Margot’s mind, but it seemed that her brain had been disconnected from her mouth, and she could speak none of them. Dash was the same. More than once he opened his mouth speak, or raised a finger as if to point, or moved to replace his hat on his head. He did none of those things, and finally settled in a limp, disbelieving stance.

Desdemona had not moved, keeping her head buried in her hands, deliberately not looking at her twin. After a long, drawn out silence Abigail took the seat next to her.

“Don’t you dare,” Desdemona said. “Don’t you dare say that everything will be all right.”

Abigail drew back, hurt flashing across her face. “I don’t know if it will or not. But, Dessy, it needed to be done.” She swallowed hard, and said very quietly, “It was my decision to make.”

Desdemona’s head snapped up at that, defiance burning in her eyes. For a moment they were in their own world, sharing an entire conversation without words. Slowly the anger left Desdemona, and she rose to her feet.

“I assume you have questions,” she said, rubbing her forehead.

“A few,” Dash said.

“Abby had nothing to do with my father’s death, and neither did I,” Desdemona said fiercely. “He thought she was dead, for heaven’s sake!”

Abigail flinched.

“Yeah, that’s going to take a bit of explaining,” Dash said. “And I think it’d be better to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

“Abigail owes you nothing, Mr. Cain,” Desdemona said, moving to shield her sister from view. “And you still aren’t welcome here. Neither of you are.”

“Dessy, stop,” Abigail said. “This isn’t helping. Father’s dead, and they have every reason to suspect it was one of us. If we tell them the truth…”

“That’s no guarantee that they’ll believe us,” Desdemona snapped. “Do what you want, Abigail, but I refuse to get involved.”

“If you didn’t want to be involved you wouldn’t have given Anansi that poem,” Abigail said quietly.

Desdemona recoiled as if she’d been slapped, her face going from shocked to angry to defensive in seconds. “That’s a low blow, coming from you.” She blinked rapidly as if trying not to cry. “After all he’s done…I’m sorry, Abby, but I can’t. I just…can’t.”

“Which is why I must.”

“Of course it is,” Desdemona said, defeated. “Tell them what you want. I’ll have no part of it.” Wiping her eyes angrily she pushed past Dash and rushed out of the apartment.

“Someone should go after her,” Dash said, mouth turned down in worry. “You stay with this one, Prof. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

He hurried to follow Desdemona, pausing only to whisper in Margot’s hear, “Soft touch, Professor.”

“I know,” Margot murmured, but he was already gone, leaving her alone with Abigail Wright.

At a glance, she looked even more like her mother than Desdemona. Abigail was the only of the Wright children to inherit Adeline’s grey eyes and dark, chestnut hair. But unlike Desdemona she carried none of her mother’s confidence, fire, or natural charm. Abigail had the pale complexion of someone who spent too much time indoors and dark rings under her eyes that gave her a look of perpetual exhaustion. Her clothes were made of muted colors, her hair kept up in a nondescript bun, and she carried herself like someone who was used to being invisible.

Abigail Wright looked like a shadow of a woman, a fitting description for someone who ought to be dead.

“You might as well sit down,” Abigail sighed. “I would offer you tea, but I’m not sure where Dessy keeps hers.”

“You don’t live with her?” Margot asked.

“No. It was too risky at the beginning, and as much as I love my sister she can be overwhelming.” She looked down at her hands, and Margot noticed she had bitten her nails down to the quick. She picked absentmindedly at the cuticles in a nervous gesture.  

“I don’t know where to begin,” Abigail admitted.

“The beginning would be nice,” Margot said as she took a seat next to her. “But I understand it can be difficult to know where the beginning lies.”

Abigail looked up at her, surprised. “Yes. That’s it exactly. In some ways it feels like my whole life is tangled up in my father’s death.” Her face fell once more. “Please don’t think too harshly of Desdemona. She has every right to be angry.”

“And you don’t?” Margot asked.

“I…” The nervousness in her hands worsened, though Margot noticed she kept her back ramrod straight, a vestige her childhood training that remained even now.

“Sometimes I wish I could be angry,” Abigail said. “I’m told anger can be a powerful analgesic, but all I can do is ask  _why_ even when I know there are no good answers.” She dared to look at Margot. “Do you ever have nightmares? About what caused your scars?”

Margot was taken aback by the question. “Sometimes. There was a moment when I was helpless to fight back, and I was sure I was going to die. It was a terrible feeling.”

Abigail nodded slowly as she processed this. “I think you might understand then.” She took a deep breath to steady herself, and then she began to speak.

“When I was a child I developed an interest in magic. Father taught me, though it irritated Mother to no end. I don’t think he would have if Felix had taken to it like he wanted, but Father wished desperately for one of us to follow in his footsteps. He wanted one of his children to love magic like he did.

“I don’t know how much of my aptitude was natural talent and what part stemmed from my desire to please him. Magic was something I was good at—it was the  _only_ thing I was good at, and when I was with my father it didn’t matter if I was awkward and bookish.”

Abigail paused again, her eyebrows drawing together. “If I had been a boy it wouldn’t have mattered, but as desperate as Father was to pass on his legacy, Mother was determined to see us well married and with families of our own. The first time I heard my parents quarrel was when I said I wanted to continue learning magic instead of going Miss Goodwin’s School for Girls with Desdemona. I think the only reason I was allowed to go was to keep Dessy and I separated. When I wasn’t with my father Dessy managed to wrangle me into all sorts of mischief, and there was no reason to believe that would change when we were in boarding school.  

“I did well at school, but I wasn’t happy there. I didn’t realize that the boys and girls were taught separately, and that girls were only instructed in the arts deemed suitably feminine. This, I think, was my father’s concession to my mother. I could learn magic, but it would be a  _woman’s_ magic.”

“How is that allowed?” Margot said.

“It was a private school,” Abigail said. “It didn’t have to answer to the same qualifications from the State. In any case, it doesn’t matter. I learned what they taught me and spent a great deal of my free time in the library teaching myself. One of the few joys were my father’s weekly letters. I tried to pretend that I liked school, but he must have sensed something because he began sending me questions for me to work on. They were monstrously difficult, but I began to look forward to them.” She smiled softly at the memory. “It was like a game. He would try to find a problem that I couldn’t solve, and I would do my best to solve it without anyone finding out what I was doing. And that was how I learned more about magical theory than anyone in that school, regardless of gender.

“It was around that time that my father’s research began to stall. For years he had tried to simplify the spellwork required for his equation on teleportation, but there came a point where it couldn’t be simplified any further and it was still too much of a magic load required to be practical. I, er, assume you’re familiar with my father’s research?” she asked suddenly.

“Some,” Margot said. “I know before switching to lithium as a power source he tried using diamonds.”

“That’s the traditional medium for holding large amounts of magical energy,” Abigail said. “And with a big enough diamond it would have worked, but my father was dead set on Teleportation for the masses, and there just aren’t enough gemstones of that size, and if there were they wouldn’t be particularly affordable.”

“You know a great deal about your father’s work,” Margot observed.

Twin spots of pink formed on her cheekbones. “Well, yes. I spent years studying with him, and after I left for school I don’t think he felt like he had anyone else to talk to. He was so secretive, even to his colleagues at the University.”

“He trusted you,” Margot said.

“I was his blood,” Abigail said simply. “More than that, we understood one another. He would get so frustrated when Wizards took all the glory for their feats of magic when their power was given to them, not earned. More than anything he wanted his name spoken in the same breath as theirs.”

“How altruistic,” Margot said, eyebrows raising.

Abigail grimaced. “My father was a proud man. Perhaps too proud. But he was also driven. He said that those with talent ought to  _use_ their talent, not waste it on frivolousness. He saw so much of society as frivolous, and rejected it. That…that can be a very lonely way to live, but that didn’t matter to him so long as he was successful in what he set out to do. Yet for a period of time he was stuck with this unsolvable problem that would drive him to the brink of madness, making him think that conventional wisdom was right and that some things are just impossible, even for magic.

“I hated hearing his despair, even in letters,” Abigail said quietly. “So I began searching for an answer, too.”

Margot jerked upright, startling her. Her eyes grew wide as she realized where Abigail’s rambling story was finally leading. “Are you telling me…?”

“I read an article in a journal. There was a mage working with a team of archeologists studying ancient artifacts. He found traces of lithium within one of them, and there was speculation that it was used as some kind of power source. It was a tiny little thing, no longer than my thumb. I thought the idea was absurd, but the more I researched the more I realized there was great potential in using lithium, if only because it’s cheaper and more prevalent in nature.” Abigail shrugged and looked down at her hands. “Father had spent so much time trying to fit his spell to work with a diamond, he never thought to look for a material that would work better with his spell.”

“ _You_  were the one who came up with the idea?” Margot said. She gripped the arms of her chair, pulse pounding so loudly that she wasn’t sure she could hear the soft-spoken elf. She could hardly believe it. Master Wright’s greatest achievement wasn’t his own. Suddenly she remembered the secret compartment in his desk. There had been stacks of letters from a school Margot hadn’t recognized, going back years. Were those the letters from Abigail’s time at boarding school?

Margot realized now why he would keep them hidden behind a hidden panel and a disillusion charm, and wondered what other secrets might be hiding in his correspondence.

“It was just an idea; Father was the one who figured out how to make it work,” Abigail protested. Her nervous fidgets worsened, until finally she had to stand up and begin pacing.

“It was just an idea,” she repeated, “and we both knew that no one would take it seriously if it came from me. My father poured his life and soul into his research—he was the one who designed the diagrams,  _he_ was the one who wrote the spellwork, and  _he_ was the one who convinced the world that it could be done.”

“And he’s the one who took all the credit,” Margot said. “Abigail, do you realize how huge this is? Master Wright’s theories could very well revolutionize how the academic world looks at magical research. More and more mages are looking to lithium instead of gemstones. You did that, not him.”

Abigail brought her hand over her mouth as she paced. “I know.”

“Abigail, that’s amazing,” Margot said. She laughed quietly. “You know, I wrote a paper arguing that researchers should take more consideration between the scientific and magical properties of the elements because I was inspired by how your father rejected the idea that gemstones were the quintessential medium for storing magic?”

“The paper Father used to adjust his safeguards?” Abigail asked.

“You know it?”

“I’ve…kept up with my father’s research. I was anxious to know how the mage’s conference would turn out.” She smiled shyly. “It was brilliantly written. My father’s one failing was that he wrote like an academic. I hated proofreading for him.”

“And  _you_ should be proud of your contributions to Master Wright’s research,” Margot countered. Then Abigail’s words sunk in. “Wait, you  _proofread your father’s papers_?”

Abigail nodded hesitantly.

“Gods and goddess,” Margot breathed, the bottom dropping out of her stomach. Since starting this case the pedestal on which she’d placed Master Wright had severely cracked, but now it threatened to crumble entirely. “He never credited you, did he?”

“No one knew. Not even my family.  _Especially_  not my family,” Abigail said. Her eyes grew distant. “Separating Dessy and I had its intended effect, and we drifted apart during our school years. I hated keeping secrets from her, but I didn’t think she’d understand. Felix was so much older than us and absorbed in his own affairs…he and Father never saw eye to eye after he made it clear he wasn’t going to pursue his Mastery. Telling Mother was out of the question. She was still set on seeing me married.”

“But you kept helping him? Didn’t that seem odd?”

“I’ve been odd my entire life. At least I was doing something I enjoyed,” Abigail said. “Everything was fine until Dessy ran away from home.”

Abigail closed her eyes in a pained expression, and Margot said, “Felix told me that it was hard on you.”

“I knew she was going to do it. I  _wanted_ her to do it,” Abigail said. “She didn’t tell me when she was leaving, but it was only a matter of time, and I was happy for her. What I didn’t expect was Mother’s reaction. Dessy was  _hers_ like I was Father’s. They would spend hours together, especially after Dessy had left school. I think Mother had her life all planned out, not realizing it wasn’t what Dessy wanted. And when she left, Mother wanted her back.”

Abigail returned to her seat. “Father wanted her back, too, but only to avoid scandal. After years he’d finally found his breakthrough, there could be no more distractions. They would both do everything in their power to bring her home, and if they did I knew she would never have another chance at freedom. So I made Father stop.”

“How?” Margot said.

“Father was still teaching at the University then,” Abigail said. Her rigid posture slumped, and she scrubbed her face with her hands. When she looked up again she looked ten years older, and burdened by an incredible weight. “There had been…a story. That Father had used one of his student’s work for his own research without credit. I don’t know if it was true, and his friends at the university smothered the story before anything came of it. But I knew, and I told him if he didn’t let Desdemona go I would make sure everyone else knew, too.”

A tear slipped down her cheeks. “I wanted my sister to be happy, and she never would be at home. I could go my whole life without ever seeing her again and be content if I knew that she was happy.”

Abigail pulled out a handkerchief and blotted her eyes. “And in doing so I broke my father’s trust. He never forgave me for that, and Mother never forgave him for letting Dessy go. Father became paranoid that someone in the family would somehow ruin him, so he cut off Felix in hopes of curbing his exuberance and had no sympathy when his engagement fell apart because of it, which only enraged Mother more as it pushed Felix away from the family and robbed her of a potential daughter-in-law.

“Everyone was angry with everyone, and still I could have been content knowing that I helped Desdemona escape. I continued to work with Father, because I didn’t know what else to do. It was miserable, but I did it, and after a few rocky months life settled back into a routine.”

“You kept working with your father?” Margot asked. “He let you?”

“He had no one else,” Abigail said. “After I threatened to take the scandal public he resigned from the University. At home he knew where I was and what I was doing.”

“He could control you,” Margot said, disbelievingly.

“Father wanted so badly for his genius recognized that he thought that meant he had to do everything himself, but that’s impossible,” Abigail said. “Discovery doesn’t happen in a vacuum. He needed help, and he had me.”

She swallowed thickly. “Months passed. Felix moved out of the house, and one night Mother and Father left me alone to go to a charity dinner. I don’t know how she managed it, but Dessy must have known I would be by myself because she came back.”

“Desdemona came back to the house?” Margot said.

“To take me with her,” Abigail said. “She had found a place to live, gotten a job, and was saving money so she could travel the world. I can’t imagine how difficult it was going from our life of luxury to having nothing but the clothes on her back, but Dessy managed. That’s the kind of spirit she has.” She blew her nose, and laughed bitterly. “And she wanted to take me with her.”

“Why didn’t you go?” Margot asked.

“I knew I was too valuable for Father to lose,” Abigail said. “If I went with her he would surely track us down, and then what? I told her I was staying. She didn’t understand, because I had never told her. She had no idea what I had done. Any of it.”

She looked up at Margot, a picture of wretched misery. Her cheeks were splotchy red and eyes glassy from crying. “My sister and my father were the two people in my life who made me feel like I was a normal person instead of some kind of freak, and by the end of that night my father thought I had betrayed him for my sister and my sister thought I had betrayed her for my father. I couldn’t figure out what I had done wrong or how to make it better. Mother tried to turn me into a replacement for Desdemona, but I couldn’t manage that either, and when Felix came home with a new fiancée I became an afterthought. Isabella was more sociable than I, and more malleable than Desdemona. She finally got the daughter she longed for for so long.”

“And you kept working for your father,” Margot said.

“I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t just  _leave_ , and magic was the only thing I’ve ever had any talent for. As time passed I started to hate it, and I started to hate myself.

“My lowest moment came five years after Dessy left. I had finished doing something for my father and went to his study to give it to him. He wasn’t in, so I tried to undo the charm that locked the door like I had one hundred times before. I couldn’t. My magic was gone.”

Until this time Margot had tried to the best of her ability not to let her horror show on her face, but at this she could not. It was a well-known fact that magic was an extension of will, a mage had to  _want_ a spell to succeed for it to work. To reach a point where there was no will to do something as simple as unlock a door was almost incomprehensible. Most mages considered their magic to be an essential part of themselves, an expression of their truest being. There was a  _reason_ why the color a person’s magic took was unique to them.

The amount of self-loathing it took to sever that connection was too terrible to contemplate. Margot felt like she was going to be sick.

“I just stood there for the longest time,” Abigail said. “I didn’t understand what had happened. I had been walking through a fog for as long as I could remember, it was almost impossible for anything to penetrate through. I think it was Isabella who found me. She asked what I was doing, and that’s when it hit me, all at once. My magic was gone. It was gone and it wasn’t coming back.

“I don’t remember what happened after that, exactly, but it caused enough of a commotion that my parents, brother, and the servants all rushed up to see what was the matter. I was hysterical, and there was nothing anyone could do to calm me down. A healer was called, but it was obvious that I wasn’t functioning. The loss of my magic snapped the one thread I had that was maintaining my façade of semi-normalcy. I was a danger to myself and others.”

Abigail took a deep shuddering breath at the memory, but did not continue. Cautiously, afraid of what she would hear, Margot asked, “What happened next?”

“Father had little choice, but honestly it was the best thing he could have done. As soon as I was well enough to travel he had me committed.”

“To an asylum?” Margot asked.

Abigail nodded. “I spent two years recovering. It was the hardest thing I’ve done in my entire life, but I was away from my family, and because of that I could heal. I know mental institutions have a bad reputation, and I won’t pretend that there weren’t terrible things that happened on the general ward, but Father paid for privacy and he paid for me to be treated. For that I’m thankful.”

“If not for Master Wright you wouldn’t have needed to be treated,” Margot said angrily.

“That’s what Dessy thinks,” Abigail said. “I don’t know how, but she found me there. By that time I’d been institutionalized for two years and was as recovered as I’ll ever be. We talked for hours about everything that had happened. I think it’s the only time I’ve made my sister cry.”

Margot felt the bile rise in her throat.

“A word to Father and I would have been released,” Abigail said. “I’d been judged incapable of making my own medical decisions, and as the one footing the bill he had the right to be in charge of my care. But that would mean going back, and I didn’t want to go back. I would have stayed in that hospital for my entire life before doing that.

“Dessy thought that was unacceptable, but legally there was nothing we could do. So it was decided that I  _would_ die at that hospital, and with Dessy and a detective by the name of Conan Westmacott that’s exactly what I did.”  

“I saw your tombstone,” Margot said. “Your brother thinks you committed suicide.”

“And I would prefer it stay that way, Professor,” Abigail said. “I don’t know how many laws we’ve broken getting me this far, but my family already thinks I’m insane. If they were to find out I don’t doubt they would have me recommitted, and without Father’s kindness I might not end up in a private bed.”

“Your father has been anything but kind to you, Abigail,” Margot said, more harshly than she intended. It took a enormous effort of will not to start yelling. What Master Wright had done was despicable, and the only ones who knew were forced to keep their mouth’s shut. 

_You witnessed the death of a generational talent._

The words of Professor Graves, spoken not that long ago, shook Margot to the core. Through the manipulation and abuse of his family Master Wright had succeeded in keeping his reputation lily white. The world mourned his loss, seeing his death as a brilliant mind gone too soon. 

Margot was beginning to understand why Felix Wright drank.

Abigail laughed, a sad, quiet little laugh. “I wish you could see the look on your face, Professor. You look just like Dessy. Just thinking of Father makes her furious.”

“And you don’t?”

“I told you at the beginning, Professor, I wish I could be angry. I know what my father did was wrong, and that I  _should_ be angry. But I can’t.” She hung her head. “I love my father, and sometimes I’m ashamed of myself for it, but it’s not something I can help. Do you know what hurts more than anything?”

“What?” Margot asked, half-fearing what she would hear.

“In the two years I spent at that asylum he didn’t visit me, not even once. If there was one thing I wish I could ask him, it would be  _why._ ” More tears spilled down her cheeks.

“But I know the answer. I just wished it wasn’t true.”


	16. Two Foolish Choices

Margot sat at a loss as Abigail wiped her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. What could she possibly say in that moment? She, along with Dash, had invaded Abigail and Desdemona’s lives and demanded to hear their deepest, most painful secrets for the sake of the man who had failed them in every way imaginable.

Margot understood why Desdemona was angry and uncooperative. She understood Abigail’s pain and Felix’s obstinance. She even understood why Adeline was so unaffected by her husband’s death. Margot hated it, but she understood why any of them might have been driven to murder.

But it was still  _murder._ As appealing as the notion was, vigilante justice wasn’t the answer to Master Wright’s wrongs. That’s what’s Margot’s head told her, anyway. Her heart hadn’t yet come into agreement.

“You said Desdemona was the one who gave Anansi that poem?” Margot said once she finally trusted herself to speak.

Abigail nodded, not looking at Margot as she folded her handkerchief into perfect fourths and set it aside. “I have never met the man…woman?” She frowned slightly. “I’ve never met Anansi, but Desdemona has. I couldn’t believe she’d done it, I could have strangled her.”

“She didn’t write it, did she?” Margot asked. She smiled a little at Abigail’s shocked surprise. “Forgive me, but your sister doesn’t seem the type to write existential poetry about herself. And,” she added softly, “I’ve spent a great deal of today in a library, and I took the time to look up some names.”

Abigail’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Anansi told us the meaning of Desdemona’s name and how it changed the meaning of the poem,” Margot said, “but he refused to admit it had anything to do with your sister. I wondered if perhaps there wasn’t more to that idea, and I was right.  _Arthur_ and  _Adeline_ can both mean noble or nobility. They’re the lord and lady of the first stanza.  _Felix_ means lucky, which makes him fortune’s favored son. And Abigail…Abigail means…”

“Father’s joy,” Abigail finished for her, resigned. “And I might as well have bid her to die the night she came back for me.”

“That poem is about how your family reacted to Desdemona running away from home, and how your sister came through the experience stronger than she was before,” Margot said.

“I’ll admit I was projecting a little at the end,” Abigail said. “I had no idea of knowing how Dessy was doing when I wrote the stupid thing, but I hoped. I needed all the hope I could get then.”

“You wrote  _The Death of Desdemona_?” Margot asked, confirming the suspicion she’d had since Abigail had walked out of her sister’s bedroom door.

“I wrote a great deal while at that asylum,” Abigail said. “It was a part of my recovery. I had a difficult time speaking of what had happened, so my healer encouraged me to write it instead. I had to be careful—I still wanted to protect my father, even then—but I was given a notebook that was  _mine._ Not even the healer was allowed to read it unless I said he could. It was the only thing I took with me when Desdemona helped me escape.” She let out a noise that was almost a laugh.

“It’s ironic, really. I always hated writing as a child because it lacked the structure and precision of mathematics. But in the end it was the rigidity of magical theory that nearly destroyed me and in the written word where I found my liberation. Father once told me that I was born to be a mage, but I made myself a writer.”

“Is that what you do now?” Margot asked.

“After a fashion. I work in a small publishing house translating books from Elvish to Common.” She laughed again, louder this time. “I can’t tell you the number of romances I’ve seen written by bored Elvish women with too much time and money on their hands. It’s delightfully absurd.”

Margot managed to smile, but she inwardly she felt sick. If Abigail had been assisting Master Wright in his research—with a stilted magical education, no less!—at such a young age meant she was nothing short of a prodigy. To see her love for magic extinguished and her potential left untapped felt wrong. No, it was more than that. That Master Wright’s selfishness and hubris destroyed a talent that he should have nurtured was a travesty of the highest order. The world should be celebrating Abigail’s accomplishments, not her father’s.

“Please don’t pity me, Professor,” Abigail said quietly. “I’m legally dead. I have no papers, no money, no family except for my sister. My opportunities will always be limited, but I have enough.” She looked up, and for the first time Margot saw Abigail Wright. Not her sister, not her mother, but  _Abigail_ for who she really was _._

“Dessy worries constantly for my happiness, but I’ve found happiness is an elusive feeling, seldom found and often fleeting. I enjoy it when it’s there, but I don’t chase after it. I can’t. But I can be content, and truly I am. Or I was until my father died.” Her grey eyes seemed to bore into Margot, anchoring her in place with the weight of her gaze. “Desdemona didn’t kill him, Professor.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know. Someone who understood his research.” She grimaced. “I know that reflects poorly on myself, but I wasn’t there the day he died.”

 _But Desdemona was,_  Margot thought.  

“My employers will vouch for me,” Abigail said. “I was working the day of the mage’s conference. I didn’t hear of the explosion until that evening.”

Margot nodded thoughtfully. “If you don’t mind writing their address, Cain and I would be happy to verify that for you.”

She offered Abigail a blank page of her notebook while Abigail’s cheeks blushed pink. “I, er, I don’t know where Dessy keeps her quills.”

With a flourish, Margot Conjured a pen. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but you still can’t…?”

The blush deepened, and Abigail retreated into herself. “The best and worst moments in my life were caused by my magic. I don’t know if I even  _want_ it back after all that’s happened.”

“That’s understandable,” Margot murmured, and as Abigail scrawled the name and address of her work in an untidy hand she came to a snap decision. When she was finished, Margot found the spare pieces of paper where Cain had copied Master Wright’s research.

“I understand if it’s too painful, but to my knowledge no one has been able to decode your father’s notes,” Margot began. She offered the parchment to Abigail, whose eyes had gone as wide as saucers. “You might be the only person in the world who can untangle what Master Wright was doing in his final moments.”

Abigail took the notes, her hands shaking. “I could lie. You don’t know I’m innocent.”

Margot shrugged. “If you do, someone will find out eventually. No code is uncrackable, not even your father’s. But if you truly want to prove your—and Desdemona’s—innocence, this might be the best way to do it.”

“It’s been so long…” Abigail said. She brushed back the tendrils of hair that had fallen out of her bun, and laughed disbelievingly. “It’s nearly illegible. Did you copy this?”

“Of course not,” Margot said defensively. “And I don’t think Mr. Cain has been properly trained.”

“Oh. That makes sense. The standard spell printed in most books was originally meant for secretaries copying in triplicate. If he didn’t modulate the power input he likely overloaded the spell. I, er, made the same mistake. More than once,” she added hastily, sensing Margot’s surprise.

“I didn’t know that,” Margot admitted.

“Most don’t understand how their spells are put together,” Abigail said. She turned her attention back to the pages. “There’s so much that’s missing.”

“I understand if you can’t, I just thought I’d try.”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just…”

Abigail’s voice trailed off as the door to the apartment swung open. Margot jumped a little and the sudden intrusion, and then tried to pretend that she hadn’t. Desdemona entered the room with Dash not far behind. She gave a sweeping appraisal, her eyes lingering on Abigail. Apparently Margot passed her test, for she nodded to herself once and flopped artfully into the nearest chair.

“Have you finished talking, Professor?”

Margot glanced at Abigail, who seemed fully absorbed, and nodded. “For now.”

“I’m glad to hear it. The good detective has convinced me to answer his questions, and I’d prefer not to have to talk about my father any longer than I have to.”

Margot looked at Dash while Abigail stared dumbfounded at her sister. Dash grinned and tried not to look too pleased with himself as he pulled out a stick of jerky.

“How did the good detective manage that?” Margot asked.

“What can I say? It’s a talent,” Dash said.

“He said he wouldn’t stop pestering me until he found out the truth, and nothing that’s happened tonight has managed to convince me that he’s mistaken,” Desdemona corrected, her voice deadpan. “I’ve already told him the abbreviated version of me and Abby’s story, and I’m sure you’ll fill him in on the rest. So ask away, Detective. I have nothing to hide.”

“First things first, how in the name of the Seven Deities did you get Mr. Westmacott to help you?” Dash asked.

“I asked him to,” Desdemona said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I noticed I was being followed shortly after I found Abigail. It was too much of a coincidence, and I knew my father had to be involved somehow. I remember you from back then, Mr. Cain. I half-feared you were going to kidnap me or something equally ridiculous.”

She said it jokingly, but her expression was deadly serious. “It wasn’t just you. Mr. Westmacott had a whole cadre of goons trailing me in shifts. I don’t know what story my father told him, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought I planned to burgle the Royal Treasury.”

“You  _did_  steal that silver,” Dash said.

“I knew if I walked away I wasn’t going to get my inheritance,” Desdemona said. “I took what was due me, for all the good it did me. It was gone within the week.”

“Gone?” Margot said.

“Stolen, to be precise,” Desdemona said. “It turns out that a rich girl taking a poverty tour tends to stick out like a sore thumb. In any case, by the time I found Abigail I knew my quarter of the city better than Westmacott’s men. I managed to shake one, and followed him back to his office. That’s how I knew who it was Father hired. From there it was a matter asking around trying to figure out what kind of man he was and if he could be persuaded to see sense.”

“It wasn’t me you shook, was it?” Dash asked, affronted.

“No, Mr. Cain, it wasn’t you.” Desdemona sighed. “Mr. Westmacott didn’t believe me at first, not that I blame him. So after our initial conversation he went to see Abby.”

Desdemona looked over at her sister and cleared her throat. Abigail, who had returned to Master Wright’s notes, startled to attention. “What?”

“I said Mr. Westmacott spoke to you at the asylum,” Desdemona prompted.

“Oh. Yes, yes he did.” She frowned. “He snuck in dressed as an employee. He seemed a bit…eccentric.”

“Yeah,” Dash said wistfully. “That sounds about right.”

“We spoke at length after I finally realized who he was,” Abigail said. “By the end he was perturbed.”

“Father had convinced him Abigail was insane,” Desdemona said. “For all I know Father thought she  _was_ insane. How could he know when he never—“ She cut herself off sharply, and took a moment to gather herself. “Whether deliberately or not, Father had misled Mr. Westmacott into thinking I was a danger to my sister when in reality it was the other way around.”

Dash squinted in confusion. “Mr. Westmacott’s had criminals try to hire him before, to throw him off the scent. That never stopped him from solving a case.”

Desdemona raised her hands in silent question, her smile as sharp as a knife and twice as deadly. “But Mr. Cain, what crime had been committed?”

Dash opened his mouth to answer, then paused. Rocking back on his heels he looked to Margot for an answer, but she could only shrug. Surely there was something against keeping someone institutionalized for no reason, but Abigail claimed she had never sent word to her father of her recovery and had no desire to be released back into her family’s care. Master Wright’s treatment of his family was horrid, but it would be difficult, if not impossible, to prove in a court of law that he had emotionally manhandled his daughter into assisting him with his research against her will. Even cutting off Felix from the family finances was justifiable—he had been nearly thirty years old when Desdemona ran away, with a learned trade to support himself. It was heartless, perhaps, but hardly criminal.

The closest thing Margot could think of was Abigail’s claims that Master Wright had stolen a student’s work while still at the University, but even that lay in the murky waters of hearsay and rumor.  

“Do you understand your employer’s dilemma, Mr. Cain?” Desdemona asked languidly as she inspected her nails. “I wanted Abigail out of that asylum and away from my father. If caught  _I_ would have been the one charged with abducting my own sister, ridiculous as that may seem. Abby’s wishes didn’t matter; she was being denied  _by law_ the right to make decisions for herself.”

“Rightfully so, in the beginning,” Abigail interrupted softly.

“Whether or not it was right in the beginning is irrelevant,” Desdemona snapped, her words falling in a cadence that suggested this was an old argument. “You were well. After two blasted years in that hellhole you were  _well_. The fact that you couldn’t leave without Father’s permission is nothing short of barbaric. I knew that, Westmacott knew that, and I know good and well that you knew it too.”

Abigail didn’t seem to hear. Pushing away the remnants of Desdemona’s abandoned supper she spread Master Wright’s research across the table and with a finger began tracing equations, her lips moving silently. Pausing only to gauge Desdemona’s reaction, Margot offered her a fresh pen and a piece of scratch paper, both which were accepted gratefully.

Desdemona’s mouth pursed in an unhappy line, and Dash took advantage of the silence. “Mr. Westmacott always said there wasn’t a case he couldn’t solve.”

“Then Mr. Westmacott had the imagination of a dodo,” Desdemona said. “There was no  _solving_ this case. Greatest detective of the age, my foot. Mr. Westmacott liked solving puzzles, not helping people.”

“Hey now! He helped you,” Dash said.

“Because he felt  _guilty_ ,” Desdemona said scathingly. “This wasn’t some high-profile murder or a country-wide counterfeiting ring. You couldn’t point your finger at a person and say ‘aha, I’ve got you now!’ and expect everyone to go home happy with things tied neatly in a bow. This was  _life_ , and when faced with it he didn’t know what to do.”

Dash’s hands balled up into fists. “He helped you get Abigail out of that asylum,” he insisted stubbornly.

“And then he ran away in shame,” Desdemona said. She lifted her chin in silent challenge. “I can’t pretend that we’re the only people he’s helped over the years, but there’s no denying that when faced with a mess Mr. Westmacott chose to keep his hands clean. He made it  _very_ clear that after he got Abby and I settled he was done, and we could expect no more help from him. We were left to fend for ourselves.”

Dash blinked in confusion, the hurt plainly evident on his face. “Mr. Westmacott abandoned you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Desdemona answered anyway. “He helped plan an escape which included him ‘witnessing’ Abby throw herself into the river. He arranged ahead of time for us to rendezvous with one of his contacts in the city, an orc by the name of Gudrid. Unfortunately there was a mishap during the escape and Abby ended up with a broken wrist and I got a nasty concussion. We had to hide in an abandoned warehouse and pray we weren’t found until I was well enough to travel. She was the one who found a healer for us and  _she_ was the one who set us up with employment and a place to live.” Her expression softened marginally.

“Until then I had bounced around without any steady income. I’ll never forget her kindness and patience. When one of her previous students came to the city she suggested that I travel with them.”

“Anansi,” Margot said.

“I refused, of course, and have been working at a playhouse ever since. With my education it wasn’t long before I became one of the managers, though I still enjoy working as a stage hand now and again.” She smiled wryly. “It’s not quite what I imagined my life would be like when I first ran away from home, but through the stories there I still get to see the world, after a fashion. Not that that stops Anansi from pestering me every time they’re in town, begging me to bring some semblance of order to the chaos they call their show.”

“Anansi wants you to travel with them?” Dash asked. “I know plenty of people who would kill for a chance like that.”

Desdemona’s eyes slid to her sister, who didn’t seem to be listening at all. “Anansi is like Westmacott; they think they can solve all the world’s problems with a wink and a well-told story. Life’s not that simple.”

“But you gave Anansi your sister’s poem,” Margot said.

“I’m not proud of it,” Desdemona said, “but I knew Anansi and my father both would be at that mage’s conference. Anansi doesn’t travel with a large retinue, so they hire a lot of temp work for their local shows. They asked me if I would be willing to help. I refused at first. I knew being in the same room as my father was a terrible idea. But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted him to experience a  _fraction_ of what he made his family suffer. I wanted revenge.”

For the first time something that was almost regret flashed in her eyes. “While Abby was out I broke into her apartment and copied down the poem I thought would work best. See, it had to be something Anansi could deny, something only my family would understand the meaning of. To be honest, I was surprised Anansi agreed to do it. I never told them my past and they had never met Abby. It’s safer if people don’t know I have a sister.”

Her smile went from wry to bitter, twisting her handsome features into something ugly. “Then again, Anansi always did have the habit of guessing more than they ought. It wasn’t until the night of the show that I had second thoughts. I told Abby what I had done, how I had broken her trust. We argued. It was the worst argument we’ve had since…since I tried to get her to come with me the first time. I was so upset I couldn’t help Anansi as I’d promised.”

Desdemona fell into troubled silence, and Abigail set her pen down on the table. Without looking up at either her sister or Margot or Dash she said, “I ran to the conference to put a stop to it, but it was too late. Anansi had already started. I waited backstage. I told people that I was Desdemona and was too ill to work. I must have looked terrible, because they believed me. I watched my father from backstage. I saw him come forward after the show, and I knew he wanted answers that Anansi didn’t have. I…cut him off.”

“You spoke to your father the day before he died?” Dash said.

"Not really. Over the years I’d fooled myself into imagining all the things I would say to my father if I ever had the chance to see him again. That I would be able to confront him with all the things he’d done. I dreamed all manner of clever arguments and pretended I could be brave enough to speak them.” Abigail shook her head, the lines in her face deepening. “Father thought I was Anansi tormenting him with the face of his dead daughter. He was angry, and I think a little frightened. But mostly...mostly he was just angry. I froze, and when it became clear I wasn’t going to respond he left. I think he wanted to avoid making more of a scene.”

“What did you do after that?” Margot asked.

“I ran. It had been a mistake to come and a mistake to think I could talk to my father, and the longer I stayed the greater the chance that someone would recognize that I wasn’t Desdemona  _or_ Anansi.” 

Desdemona drew a hand over her forehead. “After my father died Anansi told me my brother had hired a detective to take up the case. I knew I would fall under suspicion, and if anyone found out Abigail was still alive she would too. I’ll admit, Mr. Cain, seeing you at that conference was like seeing an old ghost that’d come back to haunt me.”

“Why were you there?” Margot said.

“I told you, I was helping Anansi,” Desdemona said. “They were one of the keynote speakers, along with Father. That meant more illusions and more shows.”

“And Abigail was working when the Teleportation device exploded,” Margot said.

“Yes. It’s the truth, I swear it.”

Dash’s eyebrows drew together, and he reached into his pocket. But instead of a jerky stick he pulled out a familiar envelope: The letter he had received from Mr. Westmacott. The piece of evidence that had started the entire case.    

“That’s all well and good, but if Mr. Westmacott told you not to bug him which one of you wrote this?” he demanded.

“I have no idea what  _that_  is, Mr. Cain,” Desdemona said.

But Margot was watching Abigail, and noticed what little color she had left her face.

“That wasn’t meant for you,” she croaked.

Desdemona looked from Dash to her sister. “Abby? What’s he talking about.” When Abigail didn’t answer she reached up and tore the letter from Dash’s grasp. It took only seconds for her to read, and a thunderous expression filled her face.

“Are you  _insane_?!” Desdemona exclaimed. “Abigail, what in the world possessed you to write this? You know he wanted nothing to do with us. Why would you risk everything to an elitist prat who would have left you with a broken arm?!”

Abigail threw herself to her feet, her cheeks flushing scarlet. “Just because someone is wealthy and successful doesn’t make them a terrible person, Desdemona! Mr. Westmacott risked everything to help us, and after three years it was past time for me to give him my thanks. I don’t have to consult you before choosing to write someone.”

“You do when the person you’re writing could ruin us both. Gods, Abigail, I don’t think I will ever understand you.”

“Just as I will never understand what drove you to give Anansi that poem,” Abigail said coldly. She blinked back tears, a losing endeavor that resulted her to begin crying once more, and sat back down heavily.

“I know it was foolish of me, but it was something I felt like I needed to do.”

The pronouncement fell heavily between the two sisters, and there was a moment of awful, terrible silence. Desdemona looked at the letter hatefully, and for Margot thought she would tear it to shreds.

The anger soon gave way to helplessness, and Desdemona said wearily, “We were both foolish.” There was another beat of silence. “I’m sorry for calling you insane. I wasn’t thinking, and I shouldn’t have.”

Abigail accepted the apology with a curt nod. “And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I didn’t think it would matter after all this time.”

“If your father hadn’t died it wouldn’t have,” Dash said. He took the letter from Desdemona’s limp fingers and tucked it back in his pocket. “Thank you both for talking with us tonight. I’m probably the last face you ladies wanted to see.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Desdemona muttered.

“If there’s nothing else, the professor and I will take our leave. Is that okay with you, Prof?”

“One moment,” Margot said. She walked over to the table where Abigail had been working and asked, “Were you able to come up with anything? Anything at all?”

“It’s the formula for Teleporting ten kilograms of perfectly spherical graphite exactly twenty-five meters,” Abigail mumbled.

“You can tell all that by those scraps of paper?” Dash asked.

“It was a little more ambitious than I would have expected, but it’s what it says,” Abigail said. “The ideal proof of concept I always saw Father working towards was one kilogram, but perhaps he wanted something more impressive to show off for his big debut.”

“So how does this all work, anyhow?” Dash asked, tilting his head as if that would make sense out of the scribbles Abigail had written.

Abigail gave Desdemona a questioning glance, but her twin only crossed her arms. “Don’t look at me, I can’t make head or tail of it. If anyone’s going to explain it, it’s you.”

It’s difficult to explain to a layman,” Abigail began slowly, “but the difficult thing about Teleportation isn’t really the Teleportation, but the energy it takes to do so. Professor, do you have a magic you specialize in?”

“Elemental magic, with a focus on water,” Margot said.

“So, for example, when you use magic to thaw a block of ice, you don’t consciously have to remind yourself the heat capacity it takes to raise one gallon of water by one degree Celsius, do you?”

“Of course not,” Margot said.

“That’s because a great deal of magic is done subconsciously—a fact that irritated my father to no end because it’s what makes magic an art and not a science. I’m sure, Professor, when you were first beginning to learn you had to concentrate a great deal more on the mechanics of how you manipulated the elements?” Abigail said.

“Everyone does,” Margot said. “But with practice it becomes second nature. You just… _know._ ”

“While that is true for most students of magic, it’s not true for an enchanted item,” Abigail said. She began to fidget with Margot’s enchanted pen. “Father’s Teleportation device can’t do what people are able to on instinct because it is inanimate. It can’t  _think_  on its own. That means that everything that goes on beneath the conscious mind when they Teleport has to be programmed into the device.

“The more complex the object being Teleported, the more complex the programming, and therefore the greater energy cost. The formula Father developed would, in theory, be able to take any object in the world regardless of complexity and Teleport it across a grid of interconnected rings, as was shown at the mage’s conference. Organic life is carbon-based, hence the graphite, and a sphere is symmetrical so even if it happens to come out the other side inverted no one would be able to tell. Ten kilograms would require a large amount of energy for the smaller prototype ring, but I suppose it would show the capacity of the lithium as a power source.” Abigail shrugged. “If it had worked I don’t doubt that investors would have been interested in testing the potential of more complex inorganic, and later organic matter. It’s a technology that would take years, perhaps even decades to perfect, but it would have had its genesis in my father, and that’s what he wanted. More than anything else in the world.”

She slid her work along with Master Wright’s research back at Margot. She looked utterly spent by the evening’s events, and after Margot returned the sheets to her notebook rose from her seat, sparing a glance at Desdemona. Her hands were trembling, but from what Margot couldn’t tell.

“I’m going home now,” she said quietly. “I can’t handle any more today.”

Desdemona nodded, worrying her bottom lip while her sister gathered her cloak. “It’s late. You could stay here tonight if you need to.”

“The dark doesn’t bother me.” Abigail pulled her hood over her head. “Goodnight, Dessy. I’m sorry. For everything.”

Before she could leave Desdemona pulled her into a tight hug. Margot looked away, feeling like she was intruding on a deeply personal moment between the sisters. If this was what being a detective felt like, she didn’t like it, and didn’t know how Dash could stand it day in and day out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Desdemona said, almost making it sound like a threat. Abigail nodded and managed a ghost of a smile. It vanished when she turned and saw Dash and Margot.

“I hope you find out who did it,” she said. “Either someone interfered with Father’s formula or they somehow tampered with the rig itself. I can’t see how anyone would have managed either, but they would have had to know what they were doing to get past the safeguards and fool Father. He protected his work fiercely. Anyone who tried without disabling his spells would quickly learn the error of their ways.”

“You can stop implicating yourself any time, Abigail,” Desdemona said, her tone impertinent.

This time her smile, while still tired, was more genuine. “Goodnight, Dessy.”

“’Night,” Desdemona replied, but by the time the word was out of her mouth her sister was already gone.

 

* * *

 

 Dash and Margot were silent until they reached the waterfront playhouse where they now knew Desdemona worked. They had found what they were looking for, but hadn’t liked what they found. Not one bit.

By unspoken agreement they stopped under the lantern where Margot had woven her tracking spell. Dash shoved his hands in his pockets, the brim of his hat hanging low over his head. Margot recognized the look of bitter disappointment all too well.

“I remember Master Wu said that understanding people was like looking under a rock,” Margot said, her voice distant as she recalled the memory. “You find dirt and bugs and rot and all manner of things that you wish you wouldn’t have, but until you lift the rock you don’t really know them at all.”

“I can’t believe Mr. Westmacott just left ‘em to fend for themselves,” Dash admitted. “I mean, even if Wright senior thought Abigail was dead he probably could have caused Desdemona a fair amount of trouble if he wanted. I guess I thought Mr. Westmacott was a better sort of man than that.”

“As they say, it’s best not to meet your heroes,” Margot said, trying not to dwell too long on how utterly disillusioned Master Wright’s actions had left her.

“Sheesh, no kidding.” With methodical slowness he reached for a jerky stick and began chewing. “Maybe Desdemona was right. Maybe he was more concerned with being clever than helping people.”

“Desdemona is hardly has an unbiased opinion,” Margot pointed out. “You knew him better than she did. What do you think?”

“That’s just it, Prof, I don’t know. Got a lot to think about.” He polished off the rest of his jerky and sighed heavily. “What a mess.”

“A mess we both jumped into voluntarily,” Margot said. “You’re not getting cold feet again, are you?”

“’Course not. I couldn’t let my client down like that.”

Margot smiled. “Then what’s next, Detective? We have a lot more information than we did before, but I’m not sure if it’s true or what it means if it is.”

“I think it’d be helpful if we knew what made the thing blow up, Wright’s formula or the rig,” Dash said. “Maybe it’s time should pay my contact with the coppers another visit and see how the official investigation is coming along. You wanna come along and translate magical jargin for me?”

“Sure. And maybe I can find some spare change for Tobe and have him look into Abigail’s workplace.”

“Sounds like a plan, Prof.” He forced a bracing smile, but Dash looked about as worn out as Margot felt. She patted him on the arm reassuringly.

“We did good work today. Now let’s get some sleep so we can do it again tomorrow, and maybe we’ll find out what we need to clean up this mess once and for all.”

“I’d like that,” Dash said. “I’d like that a lot.”

The pair offered their final goodbyes for the night and headed their separate ways, but no matter what Margot said it was to be another long and restless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I head canon that Abigail has worked on one (1) of the Ti'Fa'Nii books when the normal translator was unavailable. She managed to smuggle the manuscript home and she and her sister spent the night doing dramatic readings, drinking the DotL version of boxed wine, and eating chocolate. 
> 
> To this day she considers it some of her best work.


	17. The Final Piece of Evidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, strap in. We finish this off next chapter. 
> 
> In the interest of transparency, I've made some minor additions to chapters 1, 7, 8, 12, and 16 to establish some plot points that I had thus far had a hard time fitting in. I *think* it's enough to make this a fair play whodunit, but I'm actually quite nervous for the next chapter. I hope by the time it all comes together it makes sense and that I've not missed anything. Please let me know one way or another if I've succeeded. I can take criticism, provided its grounded in something substantial. 
> 
> Lastly I've posted a new story called All in the Family that gives more background info on the Wrights. I've said it before, but these are some really old OCs of mine and I have a lot of story that just doesn't fit here--the two chapters I have up now tell how that photograph ended up in Master Wright's desk and how Abigail came to study magic. Hopefully future chapters will include (among other things) further exploration of Master Wright and Adeline's marriage, the story behind Felix's failed engagement, why Desdemona chose to look for her sister a second time, and how exactly Abigail broke her wrist. I'll continue to update that sporadically even after this is complete, so check it out if interested.

The last time Margot visited the local precinct she had been recovering from her burns. The investigators looking into the botched Drathmakal summoning had insisted on speaking with her as soon as possible, and Margot had seen no reason not to oblige them. It had been an unpleasant experience for all parties involved, in part because the man attempting to conduct the interview could hardly stand to look at her.

Dash’s contact was in another department entirely, his office hidden away in the lower levels of the precinct. They were greeted there by a young man of about twenty-five, who gave Dash a salute as crisp as his freshly-pressed uniform. At the sight of him Dash rolled his eyes before offering a hand, which was enthusiastically shook.

“Gabe, this is Professor Margot from over at Kempeston. She’s been helping me figure out what in the world’s going on with Master Wright.”

“I know the professor,” Gabe said, shaking Margot’s hand in a much more agreeable manner. “Everyone’s talking about how she and Professor Ford fought against that frog. It almost makes me wish I’d gone to Kempeston.”

“You’re a mage?” Margot asked.

“Oh yes. Never had the reserves for the flashy spells, but I get by.” He stood up a little straighter and said proudly, “The prefect called my work _exemplary._ ”

The young officer’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Margot found herself smiling. “The most important magic is the kind that doesn’t tend to get any attention.”

Gabe beamed at her. “Thank you, Professor. I’ve learned a lot working this case. The senior investigator thinks we’ll have the code cracked by the end of the week.” He looked suddenly nervous. “I, er, probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s all very hush-hush at the moment.”

“C’mon, Gabe, you know me better than that. I won’t breathe a word. Orc’s honor.” Dash cocked his head and tried to look past the lanky youth. “Where is everyone else, anyway?”

“At a meeting,” Gabe said, moving to block Dash’s line of vision.

“Without you? What about all that exemplary work you’ve been doing?”

“I would be with them, but I lost privileges when my boss found out that you’d copied Master Wright’s notes— _which I remember you distinctly promising not to do_. I trusted you.”

Dash grimaced a little, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Geeze, sorry. I didn’t want to get you in trouble. But this is important. Maybe the _most_ important. Please, Gabe, you got to let me through.”

Gabe shook his head stubbornly. “No can do, Dash. Fool me once, shame on me; fool me twice, shame on you.”

“I, uh, don’t think that’s how it goes, actually.” Dash rubbed his chin and spared a glance at Margot before snapping his fingers. “I know, how about a trade?”

“Trade?”

“You know, the exchange of goods between two parties?” Dash said, eyebrows raising. “In this case, information. The professor here’s cracked Wright’s code. Think of what the prefect will say when he finds out you’ve saved him a week of work?”

“You did?” Gabe said, eyes bulging as he turned towards Margot. He couldn’t have been more awed if she’d told him she was a Wizard, and for a moment he seemed beyond words. “ _How?_ ”

“Didn’t you hear, Gabe?” Dash asked lazily. “The professor here helped design some of Wright’s safeguards. She knew his work better than anyone.”

Margot shot him a glare that was studiously ignored.

“Well what is it?” Gabe demanded. “What was the formula for?”

Dash wagged a finger. “Nuh-uh, you show us first. A sign of goodwill, as it were. Then we’ll talk.”

“I can’t let you in. Really,” Gabe said, face crumpling. “I know you’re a good sort, Dash, but you’re not one of us, you know? I can’t tell anyone.”

Margot could see that without intervention the argument would go nowhere. She leaned in closer to Gabe, and asked, “Is that door to your office unlocked?”

“Uh, yeah, but why—“

“How about this,” Margot interrupted smoothly. “You go for a quick bathroom break, and by the time you get back we’ll be gone, with Master Wright’s formula left in exchange. You don’t let us in, and we get the information we need. Everybody wins.”

“I, er, I guess that’d be okay,” Gabe said. “But only if you leave that formula. Take off without it, and we’re done for good.”

“That’s fair,” Dash said. He made a little shooing motion. “Now hurry, before that meeting ends.”

Once he was out of sight Margot and Dash hurried into the room labeled _Magical Investigations._ It was a cramped space made even smaller by desks piled high with paperwork. Margot’s attention was immediately drawn by a glowing rune at the largest of the workspaces.

“They do recreations there,” Dash said. “You know, of crime scenes and things like that. Dunno how to activate it, though.”

“I really need to give you lessons one of these days,” Margot said. She wasn’t familiar with the rune, but it seemed like luck was finally on their side, and she could see the smear of where a greasy finger had activated the spell. Calling on her magic, she traced over the mark.

“You really do know how to do everything, don’t you?” Dash said, an enormous grin spreading across his face.

“One of us has to know what we’re doing,” Margot said. The run glowed an acidic greet, and with a flash of light a simulacrum of a notebook sprang into existence.

“They created Master Wright’s spellbook?” Dash said.

“The original probably wasn’t in any condition to study in depth,” Margot said. She flicked a wrist over the illusion, and the book fell open. She recognized the untidy scrawl written on the pages.

Reaching into her bag, Margot pulled out the copies Dash had made for comparison. Unlike the copies, the recreation’s formula was completely intact—likely the result of the investigator’s efforts to pick apart Master Wright’s research.

“The problem with recreations is that it’s partly guesswork,” Dash mused. “You take the information you got and try to reverse engineer the most likely scenario based on the facts. Look here, Prof.”

He pointed a meaty finger at the pages that came before the fateful formula—or at least what was left of them. It looked like someone had grabbed a handful of paper and ripped it out of the notebook, leaving jagged perforations as evidence behind.

“Do you think Master Wright did that?” Margot asked.

“Don’t know, but we should probably skedaddle. Gabe’s one of my best contacts, I’d hate to lose him.”

Margot broke off the rune and together they hurried out of the office. They had just closed the door behind them when Gabe ran around the corner, red-faced and nearly in a panic. At the sight of them he nearly melted into a puddle of relief.

“Oh thank goodness you’re here.”

Anything else he might have said was cut off as a tall, scarecrow of a man came into view, trailed by a trio of men wearing the blue band that marked them as mages on the sleeve of their uniforms. This newcomer, at least, Margot recognized from her interview after the Drath attack as Mattathias Mathers, the head of Magical Investigations.

“Well hello there, Investigator,” Dash said. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

Mathers hardly deigned to spare him a glance before turning his attention to Margot. “Good morning, Professor. I didn’t think I would be seeing you again so soon. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Mathers was a soft-spoken man, but he gave Margot the impression of hiding a heavy hand beneath a velvet glove. He had not asked any questions after the Drathmakal summoning, but to this day he was the one person from the investigation that Margot remembered most.

“I was just wondering how your investigation on the Wright case was coming along,” Margot said.

“Ah, yes. Of course. I hear you were present during the explosion and the one to find Master Wright dead. I am sorry you had to experience that so soon after your recovery.”

“But you’re not sorry she had to experience it at all?” Dash asked, eyebrows raising.

“Mr. Cain, I told you the last time you came scurrying in here like an unwanted beetle that I have nothing to say to you, and none of my investigators have anything to say to you,” Mathers said. “I would be greatly obliged if you would take the initiative to remove yourself from my presence. _Permanently._ ”

“Now Investigator, the professor isn’t the only one who was there during that explosion,” Dash said. “The public demands answers, and so do I. What caused that explosion?”

The craggy lines in Mather’s face deepened, and Margot would not have been surprised if he used his magic to make the temperature plummet twenty degrees. Gabe cringed and looked like he wished the ground would swallow him whole, and trio of senior investigators looked uneasy.

“Follow me,” Mathers said tersely. He turned sharply on one heel, the tails of his uniform shirt billowing behind him as he swept back the way he had come. Dash and Margot had to hurry to keep up with him as he took an unmarked stairway to the basement of the precinct.

This time Margot was not imagining it when the air grew cool and dry, and she felt the faintest breeze where magic was used to keep the air from growing stale. Mathers did not stop, and from the basement found _another_ stairway that led even deeper underground.

A bored officer guarding the door sprung to attention at the sight of him, only for Mathers to wave him off. “This will be a quick visit.”

With a long, spindly finger Maters painted an intricate sigil over the door that caused it to melt away into nothingness. A snap caused mage light to spring into existence, revealing a corridor lined from floor to ceiling with metal shelves, each filled with boxes upon boxes.

“Welcome to my job,” Mathers said dourly. Tenting his fingers in front of him, he began strolling down the passage. After a few steps he indicated toward a box.

“That’s Jean Brodeur. She was a mother of two killed on her way home from work, likely a botched robbery. Whoever did the deed had enough magical expertise to cleanse the area of evidence. Her mother comes every week begging me to reopen the case. Her husband doesn’t any more, and I can’t tell you which is worse.”

A few more steps, Mathers’ face a serene mask of contemplation. He indicated to another box. “Like Master Wright, Rhen Petrov died in a magical experiment gone wrong, but _unlike_ Master Wright he was neither famous nor his work terribly important enough to warrant serious scrutiny. I don’t have the resources to pinpoint the exact cause of death, and so the case remains unsolved. I'm told there wasn’t enough of him left to bury.”

They came to the end of the corridor and Mathers plucked a box from its shelf, carefully wiping away the dust that had gathered on the nameplate.

“We don’t know who this man was, except he was a wanderer viciously murdered in a way too gruesome to repeat in mixed company. I swore I would find his killer, and I never have.”

Mathers replaced the box tenderly before rising to back to his imposing height. He looked down the length of his hooked nose at Margot and Dash, a cold fury burning in his black eyes.

“I will find the answer to the death of Master Arthur Wright, but it will be in my way and in my time. The more resources wasted on this nonsensical  _accident_  are resources my people could spend investigating cases that truly matter. Now please, get out of my sight and let me _work._ ”

Both Dash and Margot were more than happy to oblige him, and they were escorted out of the precinct before Margot had a chance to tell poor Gabe that Master Wright had been attempting to Teleport ten kilograms of perfectly spherical graphite a distance of twenty-five meters.

* * *

 

“Well that was a waste of time.”

Dash grunted as he leaned against the park bench. He had adopted what Margot privately dubbed his thinking pose, with his head rolled back and his eyes closed. Margot chose to stand and would have preferred to pace, but settled for manipulating a globe of water in her hands.

“Someone ripped out those pages,” Dash said.

“Abigail said that Master Wright protected his notebook against tampering,” Margot said. “That means it was probably Master Wright himself, and it’s impossible to know why without seeing those pages.”

Dash hummed his agreement, and with his eyes still closed found a jerky stick. “Keep talking, Prof. It helps me think.”

“Abigail said that either the formula or the ring itself had to be tampered with for it to explode, and if I had to guess I’d say that it was probably the formula. Those rings had more failsafes than I could count. The one I helped with was just the extra cherry on top.”

“But Wright kept that notebook with him,” Dash murmured. “Who could get their hands on it?”

“His son probably had the best chance. They did share a room during the mage's conference,” Margot said. “His wife wasn’t even there, and I don’t think Desdemona would know how to tamper with it in a way that Master Wright wouldn’t recognize.”

“But Wright junior had everything to gain from his father’s success, financially speaking,” Dash said.

“A crime of passion?” Margot guessed.

“Tampering requires a bit of forethought and the nerve to follow through with a plan. Hard to pull off in the spur of the moment.”

Margot spun water between her fingers. She hated even to think it, but there was one possibility they hadn’t yet addressed. “Abigail knew.”

“Tobe says her work checks out,” Dash said.

Margot bit her lip. “I know she says that she’s lost her magic, but what if that isn’t true? It would take seconds to Teleport to and from the mage’s conference without being missed. It would take some serious firepower, but Abigail knows the mechanics of Teleportation better than anyone who isn’t her father.”

Dash cracked an eyelid. “Do you really think that, Prof?”

“I don’t want to believe it,” Margot said. “But I can’t see how else it could be done.”

She let the globe of water settle in her palm, the events of the mage’s conference replaying in her mind over and again as she tried to come up with _something_ that would put this case to rest once and for all. She remembered Master Wright’s curt dismissal, him reading the equation from his notebook to activate the rings, even the lump of graphite that would be used in the experiment—no bigger than the water she held now.

Was it Abigail? Of the Wright siblings she held the least vitriol towards her father, though his actions had affected her most of all. Was it possible she had been working together with Desdemona all along? Desdemona alone admitted she wanted revenge for what Master Wright had done to her sister. Was it possible she had bullied Abigail into tampering with his equation?

Or perhaps it was Felix, fed up after years of being looked down upon for not pursuing his Mastery. He was, after all, the one member of the family who spent the most time with Master Wright in the present day.

Margot would be the first to admit that she didn’t see how Adeline could have played a part in her husband’s demise, but she couldn’t rule out the possibility that the Wright matriarch had arranged for someone to do her dirty work for her. The marriage was an unhappy one, and they had quarreled before Master Wright left for the conference.

Something didn’t sit right, a niggling suspicion that Margot couldn’t quite place. Something about the facts didn’t line up, but the more Margot tried to grasp for it the farther it seemed to slip from her grasp.

Margot supposed that part of her problem was that she was having a difficult time distancing herself from the facts of the case. Magic should be used to help people, and in his selfishness Master Wright had hurt the people closest to him in a terrible way, never acknowledging his mistakes or taking action to correct them.

It wasn’t right. None of it was.

Disgusted, Margot threw down her globe of water, and then froze as the pieces of the disparaging puzzle came together with an almost audible _click_.

“Dash?”

“Yeah, Prof?”

“I think I know what happened.”

Slowly Dash raised his head. “That’s funny, because I was about ready to say the same thing.”


	18. The Legacy of Arthur Wright

Margot paused as she entered Benson hall. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, though unlike the day of the mage’s conference there was no magic in the air, nor anyone besides herself and Dash to stare at her scars. It felt like an eternity and a half had passed since Master Wright’s death, when in reality it had been only days. How was it possible to feel so tired in such a short period of time?

Dash noticed her hesitation. “You okay, Prof?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Nah, but I’m going to do it anyway.” He scratched the back of his head. “It feels right, you know? Have you ever had a feeling like that, deep down in your gut?”

“Once or twice. Sometimes my gut’s been wrong.”

“Been there, done that,” Dash said. “Can’t let past mistakes hold you back, otherwise you never end up going anywhere.”

“Thank you for your words of wisdom, Master Cain,” Margot said sardonically. Then, more seriously, “Are you sure they’ll show?”

Dash shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

* * *

Desdemona found them first. She entered the auditorium where her father died with her head held high and a set to her shoulders that reminded Margot of a soldier marching into a battlefield. Her eyes found the blackened wreckage of the stage, not yet repaired from the explosion, and gave a rather unladylike snort.

“You have a flair for the dramatic, Mr. Cain. I’ll give you that much.”

“Miss Desdemona,” Dash said respectfully. “I’m glad you could join us today.”

“Don’t patronize me, Mr. Cain,” Desdemona said. “I’m here for one reason only.”

She walked to the front row of the auditorium and took a seat, somehow making the simple chair look like a throne. Dash tilted his head in curiosity. “Speaking of reasons, where’s your sister?”

“Hopefully far away from here,” Desdemona said. “I told you she’s innocent. There’s no reason to include her in this farce.”

Dash didn’t push the issue, choosing instead to meander next to Margot. He asked in a low tone, “Do you think you could track her?”

“Tobe thinks he could find a hair that was hers but I’m sure Abigail will have taken precautions by now,” Margot said.

“All right. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, then.”

Dash was selecting a jerky stick when Felix arrived, accompanied by his wife. At the sight of Desdemona he came to a dead stop, and Isabella brought a hand over her mouth in shock.

Desdemona craned her head to look at them, a cutting smirk stretching across her face. “Long time no see, brother dearest.”

“Desdemona,” he said curtly. “It seems Mr. Cain was capable of finding you after all.”

“It seems so.” Desdemona turned her attention on Isabella. “You must be the one he managed to marry. You have my deepest condolences.”

“You have no right to speak to my wife that way,” Felix growled.

“I’m no Wright at all,” Desdemona said. “Father took care of that ten years ago.”

Felix flushed scarlet. “You brought that on yourself. You were given every opportunity and threw it all away for a girlish whim. Do you have any idea how your selfishness affected the rest of us? How could you do that to your family? To _Abigail?”_

“You leave her out of this,” Desdemona said, her voice as hard as steel.

“It’s your fault she’s dead!” Felix bellowed. He tore himself away from Isabella and bridged the distance between himself and Desdemona in seconds. Margot moved to stop him, but Dash put a hand on her shoulder.

“Wait,” he murmured. “Let’s see how this plays out.”

“Mother wept for you,” Felix snarled. “For _both_ of you. Ungrateful brat, can you imagine the pain you’ve caused her? She lost both her daughters the day your selfishness overtook your sense. She had to watch Abigail waste away for five years and was helpless to prevent the despair for overtaking her completely.”

“Is that what she told you?” Desdemona asked disbelievingly. She laughed, “Gods, I always knew you were her favorite, but Mother’s got you wrapped around her little finger, doesn’t she?” She returned to her seat and crossed her legs for no reason other than to irritate him. “It’s a good thing we’re not here for her _or_ Abigail, isn’t it? Hate me all you want, you had no reason to accuse me of killing Father.”

Sometime during the exchange Isabella had come up next to her husband. She looked up at Felix. “You accused your sister of _murder?_ ”

“He didn’t tell you?” Desdemona asked in mock surprise. “Tut tut, Felix. Don’t you know that communication is key to a healthy marriage?”

Felix’s blush crept down his neck, but whatever retort he was going to say was swallowed by the arrival of Adeline Wright. Desdemona saw her first, and she stiffened as their eyes locked. Dark brown vied with stormy grey for dominance, and in the end it was Desdemona who looked away, scowling.

“Felix, Isabella, I told you not to come,” Adeline said. “I am more than capable of handling a few insignificant upstarts on my own.”

“We wanted to hear what Mr. Cain had to say,” Isabella said, her tone equal parts explanation and apology. “We wanted to put this to rest.”

“Good to see you too, Mother,” Desdemona muttered from her seat.

“My daughter died ten years ago. You no longer have the right to call me by that name.” Adeline said, as cold and unwelcoming as ice. Without giving Desdemona a chance to respond, she turned to Isabella, her expression reproachful. “It is unbecoming of a woman to speak in her husband’s place."

It was clear Adeline’s words cut through Desdemona’s posturing like it were wet paper. Twin spots of pink formed on her cheekbones, and she seemed to shrink two sizes smaller. Her hands bunched into her skirts in a white-knuckled grip, tendons protruding against her skin. “I never would have left if not for you. I hope you know that.”

Adeline’s head swiveled back towards Desdemona like a hawk tracking its prey. There was a slight flair to her nostrils, her quicksilver eyes burning with suppressed rage. “I gave you an education, a loving home, and carved a place for you in society. Do you know what my mother would have done had I shown even a _fraction_ of the defiance you showed me? I did my utmost to raise you as a gentlewoman, a lady of superior manner and breeding. Tell me, Desdemona, _have_ you managed to find a suitable husband on your own? Where are your children, or have you rejected your responsibility as a woman as well as your family name?”

“I have neither husband nor children, and I’ll tell you why,” Desdemona said, her voice cracking under the strain of her emotion. “I saw firsthand what happens when a woman throws herself at the first man that shows her the slightest bit of interest and had no desire to repeat your experience. Can you honestly tell me you would have married Father if your parents hadn’t pressed the issue? Why after so many years of unhappiness were you so _determined_ for us to repeat your mistake, especially when _Felix_ was allowed to wait until he found someone he actually cared for?”

Desdemona laughed coldly as all the color left her mother’s face. “Oh yes, I’ve forgotten after so many years of living with the less enlightened species: Felix is a man, so he gets to do whatever he wants. But know this, _Mother,_ had I been afforded the same basic courtesy of getting to know my potential spouse on my own terms, I never would have left. Chew on that until you choke on your own bitterness for all I care. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

With this pronouncement made, Desdemona leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms defensively across her chest. She waited for Adeline to answer, a look of cold calculation in her eyes, and satisfaction flashed across her face when she could not. Margot would not have been surprised if Desdemona’s speech had been ten years in the making, each word carefully selected to hurt her mother in the only way she knew how.

It was frightening, in a way, how similar they were in that regard.

Dash took in the entire exchange, his sharp gaze missing nothing. Nodding to himself, he finally straightened to his full height and said, “Time to get started.”

Clearing his throat, he vaulted nimbly onto the ruined stage. “I thank you all for coming today. I recognize this is difficult for each of you, but while each may have a different motivations that brought us here, I think we can all agree that there is more to the death of Master Arthur Wright than meets the eye.”

Dash looked at each of the Wrights in turn. Adeline, Felix, and Isabella were clustered together while Desdemona stayed defiantly alone. “I suppose you guys have jumped the gun a little in clearing the air, but I think it’s past time for the truth to come out.”

A flicker of movement from the back of the auditorium caught Margot’s eye. Dash saw it too, and for a moment he faltered, unsure of what to do.

Margot gestured for him to keep talking and ducked to were Abigail Wright stood frozen in terror. Gently leading her by the arm, Margot took her to the lobby outside.

“You came,” she said.

“I didn’t want to,” Abigail said. The nervous twitching of her fingers was back, stronger than ever. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Deep breaths, Abigail,” Margot said. “You’re not alone. Desdemona is in there.”

“Which is why I came. After all she’s done for me, I can’t let her face this alone,” Abigail said. She looked at Margot, looking absolutely lost. “Gods, Professor. They think I’m dead.”

“Yeah, they do,” Margot agreed. “But you faked your death to escape your father, and he _is_ dead. What’s the worst they can do to you?”

“Have me committed,” Abigail said faintly. “Lock me up so I’ll never see the light of day again.”

“You know your mother better than I do, but do you really think she would admit publicly that you only pretended to throw yourself in a river?” Margot challenged, keeping her voice low. “She’s still telling people you married a diplomat. There’s no keeping quiet if she tries to oust you now.”

“She tells people I married a diplomat?” Abigail said, bewildered.

Margot nodded. “And that your sister eloped with an orc.”

“Is there a situation where she _doesn’t_ marry us off?”

“I don’t think so,” Margot said.

Abigail said something in Elvish that Margot doubted her mother would have approved of and scrubbed her face with her hands. “I’m sorry if I throw up.”

She pushed past Margot and strode into the lion's den that was the auditorium, making up for what she lacked in confidence with pure gravitas. There was a stubborn set to her jaw that Margot now recognized all the Wrights possessed, and she acknowledged Dash’s questioning look with a solemn nod.  

“Ladies and gentleman, before we get started there is one more person who needs to get settled. I think you’ll find she needs no introduction.” As one the four Wrights looking at him turned to see who he was addressing.

Isabella shrieked with alarm and grasped the arm of a dumbfounded Felix. Both he and Adeline looked like they had seen a ghost, which, Margot supposed, they were. Silently Abigail walked past them and took her place next to her sister, evening the odds between the two factions.

“Abigail?” Felix whispered.

“Hello, Felix, Isabella.” Swallowing hard she managed to look Adeline in the eye. “Mother.”

It was then that Adeline fainted.

* * *

Margot and Dash were forced to pause their summation until Adeline recovered. Once assured that the Wright matriarch was not in any physical distress, Margot sauntered over to were Dash was sitting. “She’s lucky Felix caught her."

“I think high class ladies are trained to faint towards the nearest man,” Dash said. He had perched himself on the edge of the stage, swinging his legs absentmindedly as Felix used his wife's smelling salts to revive his mother.

While this was happening Desdemona and Abigail had their heads together, whispering fiercely to one another. Margot couldn’t catch what they were saying, but watched with interest as Isabella crept away from her husband, slowly inching towards the twins. With a hand braced over the swell of her belly she crossed over the no-man’s land that divided the Wright family, finally catching Desdemona’s attention.

She rose to her feet and placed herself in front of Abigail. Desdemona was several inches taller and a great deal more intimidating than Isabella, and she used every bit of her superior bearing to look down at her sister-in-law.

“What do you want?” Desdemona asked.

“I don’t know you, but I did know Abigail,” Isabella said. “I have no idea what’s going on or what Mr. Cain has brought us here for. It seems like a cruel trick, but I know that can’t be it. Not after all this time.” She looked past Desdemona and said to Abigail directly, “I understand if you don’t believe me, but I’m glad you’re alive.”

It was difficult to say which of the twins was more astonished, but it was Abigail who moved first, rising smoothly to her feet. There was an anxious light to her eyes, not dissimilar to the expression Isabella wore. Carefully, like a wild animal testing a stranger intruding on their territory, she said, “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. I never apologized for my actions that night. It…it must have been a frightful shock.”  

“You were the one who was hurting most of all, and I never realized. I’ve thought of you every day for five years, wondering what I should have done differently,” Isabella said thickly. She smiled wondrously. “But it doesn’t matter now, because _you’re alive._ ”

Then, with complete disregard for decorum, she threw her arms around Abigail in a bone-crushing hug.

“I am so,  _so_ sorry.”

Abigail stiffened at the sudden intrusion of her personal space. She threw a helpless look to Desdemona, silently begging for her to intervene. Even then it took Desdemona several moments to regather her senses, and she pried the two apart.

“I don’t think Felix would care much for you throwing yourself at your previously-deceased sister-in-law,” Desdemona said.

“I don’t care,” Isabella said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I never knew my parents, so perhaps I can’t understand, but as a girl I used to _dream_ of what it would be like to have a family to love and cherish. It kills me to see this feud tear you all apart.”

“It’s not that simple,” Abigail said.

“Perhaps not,” Isabella said, “but I wonder what would happen if any of you bothered to _try._ ”

She glanced behind her, where Felix was now helping Adeline back to her feet. Adeline pushed herself away from her son, moaning softly when that little exertion caused her to sway dangerously on her feet.

Once Adeline was sufficiently recovered she wasted no time in fixing Isabella with a stare that would have made a veteran war mage cower in fear. Isabella let out a sharp breath through her teeth, and for a moment looked like she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do.

“No matter what happens, I’m glad you’re alive. Please believe me when I say that,” Isabella said quietly. There was another moment of hesitation before she finally went back to her husband’s side.

Desdemona whistled softly, eyebrows creeping towards her hairline. “I like her better than the last one Felix picked.”

“Isabella has always been very kind,” Abigail said numbly.

With the two factions reset, a lull fell over the Wrights, and finally some of the tension bled out of the room. It was only then that Dash chose to spring to his feet. Standing on the theater stage, he towered over the Wrights and commanded their attention with his presence alone. Removing his hat, he said, “I’m sure there are plenty of questions, and I promise they will be answered in due course, but the time has come to get down to the heart of the matter and the reason I’ve summoned you all here today: Master Arthur Wright is dead, and I’ve been doing my best to find out why.

"I have suspected from the beginning that foul play was involved. The authorities disagreed, and that was when I, along with Professor Margot, sought out Mr. Felix Wright for permission to investigate. It was at that day in the hospital that Mr. Wright hired me on the condition I prove his sister did the deed. A condition I failed to meet in a timely manner and was subsequently fired.

“My interest in the beginning was simple. Three years ago Master Wright hired Mr. Conan Westmacott to investigate Miss Desdemona. I was one of the men Mr. Westmacott had working that case—which ended in Mr. Westmacott’s retirement and the supposed death of Miss Abigail Wright, who had spent the previous two years institutionalized after a nervous breakdown.”

He paused to take a deep breath, his eyes flickering to Abigail. She was as tense as a drawn bowstring and just as likely to snap, but she gave the smallest of nods for him to continue. Clearing his throat, Dash said,

“Ten years ago Miss Desdemona ran away from home to escape what she thought to be an unbearable situation, causing great distress to both her parents. And yet Master Wright not only _didn’t_ bring his daughter home, but disowned and cast her aside. Both Mrs. Adeline Wright and Mr. Felix Wright were devastated, and neither forgave Master Wright for his decision, not realizing he had been blackmailed into inaction by none other than his second daughter, Miss Abigail Wright.”

“ _Lies_ ,” Adeline hissed. “Lies and slander.”

“Which part, Mrs. Wright?” Dash asked. “Because your daughter was more than capable. She knew of the rumors that could ruin Master Wright’s research before it had a chance to get off the ground, and more than that held incredible influence over him. The mere _threat_ of exposing the true progenitor of Master Wright’s theories would have been enough incentive to let Miss Desdemona go, let alone whatever nonsense happened while he was still teaching at the University.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” Felix demanded. “My father worked alone. He always has.”

“No, you just never realized that his research partner was right under your nose the entire time, because apparently _none_ of you ever considered it possible that Miss Wright was doing more than studying under your father's tutelage. Your sister was working directly with Master Wright to make his dream of mass Teleportation into a reality. You can call me a liar till you’re blue in the face, but the facts are the facts, and the proof is in your father’s own letters.”

The silence was deafening. Adeline, Felix, and Isabella were all dumbstruck, and Abigail couldn’t bring herself to speak in her own defense. She began to shake as the various members of her family stared at her like she had grown a second head, causing Desdemona to wrap a protective arm around her shoulders.

It was telling, Margot thought, that none of them accused Dash of lying. At least not immediately. Maybe the combined shock of the pronouncement in addition to finding out she was alive after all these years had silenced them, but Margot thought that perhaps they could hear the ring of truth in what he was saying. Abigail had always had a reputation within the family as being strange and bookish. Maybe it wasn’t so hard for them to make the leap that under her father’s careful instruction she had become a serious student of magic.

Dash spread out his arms. “I don’t say these things lightly, nor do I enjoy digging at old wounds without reason. It is my belief that everything that has happened over the last decade has played a crucial role in Master Wright’s death. This mess,” he said, gesturing broadly the Wrights, “is his legacy. More than any theory or enchanted ring.

“But before we begin, I must ask one last thing. Mrs. Wright, would you please be so kind as to remove your gloves.”

“Excuse me?” Isabella asked.

“Sorry, wrong Mrs. Wright.” Dash scratched the back of his head, momentarily breaking the illusion of control he had been trying to cultivate. “I’ve never done a summation where all the people had the same last name before.”

“You mock me, Mr. Cain,” Adeline said, a faint tremor in her voice. Her swoon, whether real or dramatized, had tilted her hat askew, and for the first time she looked vulnerable and afraid. “Remove my gloves? Whoever heard of such ridiculous nonsense?”

“The theory Professor Margot and I have put together is dependent on one fact that we have not yet confirmed,” Dash said. “If I’m wrong, you’re more than welcome to rake me over the coals, but I don’t think I’m wrong. Your gloves, Mrs. Wright.”

“I have suffered enough indignity at your hands, Mr. Cain. I will not listen to another word that you have to say. Felix, Isabella, come along. We’re leaving.”

Adeline Wright gathered her both her dress and the scraps of her tattered pride and moved toward the exit. She made it halfway before she realized her son had not moved. Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch when she realized they would not _be_ moving.

“Mother, he found Abigail,” Felix said plaintively.

“I…this is a trick. I don’t know what sort of evil who could give birth to such a scheme, but who would you rather believe, this _orc_ or the greatest detective of our generation? Conan Westmacott saw Abigail jump with his own eyes. Her body was washed away to sea, and she is dead. D-dead and _never_ coming back.”

Adeline’s composure, which had slipped considerably since Abigail had revealed itself, crumbled away entirely. She wept, not the graceful tears of a lady, but the ugly, uncontrolled sobs of a mother who had her heart ripped from her chest. She tore the black gloves off of her hands and threw them to the ground, and somewhere in the back of her mind Margot heard Isabella gasp.

Bandages covered Adeline’s hands, clumsily applied and in desperate need of changing. At the sight of them Felix swore, and Dash nodded to himself in grim satisfaction.

“Wait, I was right?” Desdemona said. “Mother really was the one who killed Father? I didn’t honestly think…”

“It’s not that simple,” Dash said. “Prof, do you mind?”

Margot took Adeline by the elbow and sat her in the nearest chair. Gently she began removing the dressings, and was unable to stop a surprised hiss from escaping her at what she saw. The Wright matriarch’s hands were blistered and raw, the injury worst at the center of her palms and her fingertips. Calling on her magic, Margot gathered a handful of water.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Adeline demanded.

“Cleaning your wounds before they fester. I don’t know much healing magic, so it’s the best I can do for now.”

Adeline bore the humiliation stoically as fat tears continued to roll down her face. A few of the injuries went deep enough that Margot wasn't sure she had any feeling left. She thought of her own burn ointment back in her desk at the Academy and wondered if Adeline had self-medicated with something similar, or if she had simply gone without pain relief at all.

“You need a proper healer,” Margot said when she was finished cleaning the wounds. A cantrip removed the worst of the stains from Adeline’s bandages, though Margot didn’t know the spell that would have sterilized it entirely, and carefully she began the process of rewrapping her hands.

“Healers ask questions,” Adeline said numbly.

“Healers can be paid to keep quiet,” Margot said.

Adeline scoffed, a portion of her imperious nature returning. “There’s not enough money in the world that can keep a secret that’s desperate to come out. I’ve learned that again and again, for all the good it's done me.” She turned her watery eyes on Dash. “How did you know?”

“I told you, it was an unconfirmed suspicion. I noticed, Mrs. Wright, back when we first met. You winced when I took your hand. I didn’t think much of it at the time because you’re kinda racist and probably don’t like mixed-blood orcs touching you. But it kept happening, at the gravesite with your son, when you threatened me in my office, and just now when Felix helped you stand. Every time you touched something with your hands, you reacted as if in pain. And still I might not have thought anything of it, if not for Miss Abigail Wright.”

“Me?” Abigail said. “But I didn’t say anything about my mother.”

“No, but you did say your father protected his research with magic.” Dash clasped his hands behind his back and paced up and down the length of the stage. “Over the course of the investigation one thing became clear to me: Every one of you was trying to protect someone else. Why else would Mr. Wright be so quick to accuse his sister after not seeing her in a decade? Why else would Mrs. Wright approach both the professor and myself after we’d already been fired and demand that we leave her son alone? Why else would Miss Desdemona try to hide her sister, and why else would Miss Wright make it so clear that she and she alone had the knowledge needed to kill her father?”

Dash spun suddenly and pointed an accusatory finger at Felix Wright. “You knew your mother fought with your father often. During the funeral I overheard the servants say that Master and Mrs. Wright had a row the night before the mage’s conference. You  _knew_  how unhappy your mother was after years of scandals and the loss of two daughters. Mrs. Wright had motive and opportunity to kill her husband. What was it you said the day you hired me? _Too much thinking isn't good for you._ You'd had plenty of time to wonder if maybe, just maybe, your mother had done the deed and tried to shift the blame on your estranged sister to cover her tracks.”

He moved from Felix to Adeline and said, “You knew your son’s relationship with his father was on the rocks, and you knew that he spent the most time with Master Wright before his death. Mr. Wright  _also_ had motive and opportunity to kill his father!”

“My son had nothing to do with it!” Mrs. Wright shrieked. She bolted to her feet and held up her mangled hands for all to see. “ _This._ This is proof that he didn’t!”

“Calm down, Mrs. Wright. I’ve not accused your son of anything yet,” Dash said. “Or you, for that matter.”

Adeline slumped back into her seat, a look of blank terror on her face. Again Dash began to pace.

“You told Professor Margot that your love and duty was to your children, and in Mr. Wright’s case I believe that to be true. He, after all, is the only one who came back. I can’t imagine what that would feel like, to cling so desperately to a child, your firstborn son, only for your own husband to push him away as useless just because they didn’t fit his idea of what sort of man he should become.”

“There’s no need for such introspection if you’re going to accuse me, Mr. Cain,” Adeline said. “I don’t deny it. I killed my husband. There, are you satisfied?”

“No, because it’s not true. You might have wanted to, but you don’t have the expertise to deliberately tamper with your husband’s research,” Dash said. “I do believe, however, that sometime during or after your last argument, you found Master Wright’s notebook where he kept his spells, and in a fit of rage decided to destroy it. Miss Wright mentioned that he kept it well-protected, and it seems like you managed to rip one handful of pages out before the defenses triggered. Your injuries kept you from accompanying your Master Wright to the conference, but it is clear now that you kept what you had done secret. All of Master Wright’s work on those pages would have been destroyed, including the formulas he had prepared for his demonstration.”

“But that’s ridiculous, even if it is true. Father would have notice immediately and redone them. That has nothing to do with how he died,” Felix said.

“You’re assuming that he had _time_ to fix it,” Dash said. “Mrs. Wright played her part in this story, but she’s not the only one, because Miss Desdemona had decided to use the mage’s conference to extract a revenge of her own.”

“I don’t deny it, Mr. Cain,” Desdemona said stiffly.

“It would be a hard thing to deny, seeing as how your brother was present for it,” Dash said. “See, it all goes back to Miss Desdemona running away from home. That one incident was the wedge that drove everyone apart. Miss Wright was determined to see her sister go free, and she took measures with her father to make sure it happened. I’m sure you can imagine how well Master Wright took such a betrayal, and even as she continued to work with her father, Miss Wright’s health and well-being began to deteriorate, culminating in the incident that led her to being sent to the asylum.”

“Gods…” Isabella breathed, eyes widening in horror.

“Miss Desdemona found her there, and together they hatched the scheme to get her out. When she learned what her father had done to her sister she became furious. That rage smoldered for three years, and when she saw an opportunity to strike back against Master Wright, she took it. I’m sure the fact Mr. Wright was there as well was just icing on the cake.”

Dash turned to address Felix directly. “You were right about one thing, your sister was the one who got _The Death of Desdemona_ in Anansi’s hands. Now Anansi claims they didn’t use Desdemona’s face during that performance, but I’ve got an inkling suspicion they’re lying through their teeth. Either way it doesn’t matter. The performance shook both you and Master Wright to the core. While you went out to drown in your sorrows, Master Wright went to demand answers. It’s there we enter act three of this tragedy.” 

Again he paused to gauge the reaction of his audience. Finding them suitably engaged, he continued,

“Master Wright never met Anansi that night, but he did meet his daughter. Miss Wright—that is, er, I mean Miss Abigail, not Desdemona who wasn’t even there—admits to seeing him, wanting some answers of her own after all this time.

“Miss Wright claims she lost her nerve and never actually said anything to Master Wright. That might be true, but again it doesn’t matter because after an unproductive interaction he stormed away. Miss Wright, you said you thought your father was afraid, correct?”

“Yes,” Abigail breathed.

“As well he should be, since he came thinking Anansi was wearing your sister's face. You two look a lot alike but you aren’t identical, and Desdemona doesn’t have the same color eyes you do.”

Realization hit Abigail like a ton of bricks. She staggered back into her seat and buried her head in her hands.

“Master Wright came thinking he’d see Miss Desdemona, and he saw Miss Abigail instead,” Dash said, almost sadly. “Whether he realized it really wasyou or thought it was some kind of illusion is irrelevant; he must have known that his past had finally started to catch up with him and panicked. Frankly, I don’t blame him for running.”

“But that still doesn’t have anything to do with my father’s death,” Desdemona said. “Abby didn’t kill him. She wasn’t there the day he died.”

“Hold your horses, I’m getting there,” Dash said. “See, there was one more thing that Mr. Wright said that I didn’t think much about at the time. Mr. Wright didn’t get back to his hotel room until after two in the morning, which caused yet _another_ fight, this time between him and Master Wright. Mr. Wright says he was in bed by three—which again I have no way of proving but think is probably true—and _Master Wright was still up working_. Because of Mrs. Wright’s actions and the shock of seeing his dead daughter, Master Wright hadn’t yet recalculated the formula he would need for his big demonstration. Mr. Wright, what time did your father go to bed that night?”

“I…I don’t know,” Felix said.

“ _Exactly_. Now, Miss Wright managed to reconstruct the formula Master Wright used for the mage’s conference: ten kilograms of graphite Teleported twenty-five meters.”

“But that can’t be right,” Felix said.

“It _is,_ and I’ll leave it to Professor Margot to explain why.”

Margot stepped forward. “I was there the day Master Wright died. I saw the chunk of graphite he was going to use for his demonstration. It was small, able to fit into the palm of my hand.” She formed a ball of ice to demonstrate. “Abigail, you were surprised by the calculation you came up with because the ideal that your father had always been working for had been one kilogram, not ten. Am I right?”

“Of course she is,” Felix said. “That’s what we were going to do. That’s what Father had _always_ planned on doing.”

Margot nodded. “The defenses on Master Wright’s rings were substantial. They protected against any outside influence interfering with the magics inside the ring and encouraged stability within the internal elements. But there is no protection against user error.”

She let the ice dissipate into the air. “In order to Teleport the graphite Master Wright had to calculate its physical properties into the spell: Density, shape, and weight are all key components in this process. A smaller object takes far less energy to Teleport than a large one, and the rings themselves were only a scale model of what he one day hoped to build. Their energy capacity was limited simply because of their size. The power it takes to Teleport a ten kilogram object versus a one kilogram object is substantial. The rings would have been forced beyond what they were designed to do, but since the _spell itself_ was technically correct none of the failsafes would have activated. This surge of energy would have been more than enough to trigger a thermal runaway reaction, causing the explosion.”

“There’s a saying among orcs that you reap what you sow, and for ten years Master Wright had done nothing but cultivate bad blood within the family,” Dash said. “No one person is any more responsible than the rest. Master Wright’s death was one of a thousand cuts, and without the perfect storm of events leading up to the mage’s conference he probably would still be alive.”

He jumped off of the stage and replaced his hat on his head. “I said that I was suspicious of foul play from the beginning, but I was wrong. Master Wright’s death wasn’t murder, but a stupid, senseless accident. And if you want my honest opinion, he had no one to blame but himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel like there might be some readers that feel cheated that there's no murder in my murder mystery. I mean, it is right there in the title. I remember reading The Murder of Roger Ackroyd and feeling utterly betrayed by Agatha Christie, feeling like she had broken one of the fundamental rules of of the mystery genre--whether it was a fair play whodunit or not was irrelevant--and nearly throwing my book against the wall after getting through the summation. Please know that was not my intention and I didn't do it as a cheap twist. In fact, when I first started there *was* a murder, but about three chapters in I decided to completely rewrite my plot (Note: I do not recommend doing this). 
> 
> I've said it before that the Wrights are old characters of mine, but that's actually only true of Arthur Wright and the twins. I first came up with this premise when I was in high school as OCs for a Harry Dresden story, and in the decade since then there have been many iterations of them running around in my head, the most frequent offender being the version where *Desdemona* died saving Abigail, and Abigail spent the intervening years impersonating her sister to get away from her father. That was the story I started out with, and honestly it would have been pretty good. In that version Abigail would have been the one who killed her father both in revenge and to protect the identity she had built for herself. 
> 
> However.
> 
> Around the time I posted chapter three I was reminded of one startling fact: People who suffer from mental illness are much more likely to be the victims of a crime than the perpetrators of one. There's no denying that in my story Abigail suffered from severe depression and was at one point suicidal. There are many, many stories that turn people who suffer from mental illness into the bad guys because edgy. I was forced to come to a decision: Did I want to contribute to this fundamental misunderstanding of mental illness and abuse in one of my works, especially considering I was writing this as a Daughter of the Lilies fanfic?
> 
> No I did not.
> 
> However this posed a problem as I had already started writing the stupid thing, and it would have been pretty darn conspicuous if I changed the title partway through the story. One of the bad things about serialized fiction is it's really hard to go back and change something when it's already written, and so I was stuck. I'm sorry. I don't like it because it feels dishonest to my readers, but live and learn.
> 
> The one thing I wanted to do with this story is explore how different people can respond differently while in the same circumstances, especially in regards to family. Without getting into to much detail, my dad wasn't a very good dad. It was nothing near as dramatic as what I've posed here, but there's a reason why I thought up of Master Wright when I was in high school, although I didn't realize how much I was projecting my feelings until about halfway through this story. Writing is funny that way sometimes.
> 
> But while I have major struggles with my father and am basically estranged, my brothers--who went through the same thing I did and in some ways were treated worse--are on relatively good terms with him. I want nothing to do with my dad, but I'm a nurse who works in long term care, just like he was. As much as I don't like it there's a part of him in me. 
> 
> My older brother once said a very wise thing when I was really wrestling with my feelings towards my father: Families are made of the same ingredients, but in different proportions, and those different mixes of personality and circumstance can either build up or destroy a family. That, more than anything else, was what I wanted to explore in this fic, and I hope I've succeeded.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me through this project, as uneven as the quality is at times because I literally was rewriting my plot as I went along, and if you're still reading this note thanks for that too. I do appreciate all you guys, and I hope you'll stick around for my next projects. I've got a fun Thistle-centric work I've been brainstorming, and the vague idea of turning the Detective Margot thing into a trilogy. 
> 
> There will be an epilogue wrapping things up, and I am working on some of the side content for this story. Other than that, this it's case closed on the Murder of Arthur Wright. I do hope you found the ending satisfactory, and if not, well, I did my best.


	19. The End, and Several New Beginnings

Time passed. Margot returned to work, spending her days with lesson plans and contemplation. While the Academy didn’t practice anything as barbaric as separating the pupils by gender, she wondered if any of her students had suffered from the same pressures as the Wright children, whether forced to study magic against their will like Felix or held back from their true potential like Abigail. Margot had always had an open door policy with her students, but after witnessing the self-destruction of the Wright family she vowed to take a more proactive approach. Maybe, just maybe, she could make a difference.

On her next weekend off, Margot stopped by the Red Griffin Inn. She arrived early in the day, and situated herself away from the few customers who were waiting for their breakfast. Anansi was nowhere to be found, their trademark magic absent as Gudrid busied herself with the morning chores.

Margot had been sitting perhaps fifteen minutes when Gudrid approached her. She asked in her thick accent, “You be needing something?”

“Only to tell you that we found Desdemona, along with her sister,” Margot said in a low voice that only Gudrid could hear. “The case is closed.”

The orc wiped her hands on her apron and slid into the chair opposite Margot. Though age had robbed her of some of her strength, Margot could clearly see the muscles in her forearms as she lit her long pipe.

“All this time we were trying to get information from Anansi, when we should have been asking you instead,” Margot said wryly.

“The best storyteller knows ven to stay silent. Vas not my place to speak.”

“So it’s true, then,” Margot said. “Mr. Westmacott had you help those girls.”

“Vestmacott ask if I vould _consider_ helping. No one tell me vat to do,” Gudrid said. “I see, and I decide vat best.”

“And what did you see?” Margot asked.

“I see two girls whose story just begun. Vether vould be tragedy or not, do not know. Very alone. Very scared. But courage to valk own path.” Gudrid blew out a slow stream of smoke that took on the shape of two small elves and an orc that had to be Gudrid herself. One of the girls gestured emphatically to the other as if begging for help, while the orc gathered them both up in her arms. Gudrid sighed, and the image dissipated into nothingness.

“I no see Abigail after dat night. Is best to hide. But Dess stay vit me for many months. She very angry for long time. Sad, too, and feeling guilt. I tell her anger is two-edged sword, much goot can be done ven veilding, but also much harm. The fire that temper svord burns the vood.”

“My mother said something similar,” Margot said. “The same water that softens the potato hardens the egg.”

“Is goot saying.” Gudrid took another long drag and regarded Margot, her black eyes cautious. “People are remembered by actions. Some try to hide behind mask, but alvays falls avay in end. I make sure Dess know only she can be in charge of own actions, and own story.”

“Reputation is a man’s greatest mask,” Margot quoted, wondering if Anansi had heard of the saying from his former teacher.

“Is true, but is also not true,” Gudrid said. “Truth vants to be told, and it finds a vay to come out.” She rose to her feet as the bell above her doorway rang, Dash sauntering inside as he looked for Margot. Gudrid stepped away from the table and said so quietly Margot wasn’t sure she was meant to hear, “One vay or another.”

Dash and Gudrid shared a respectful nod as they passed, and Dash took the place she had vacated. There was something about him that seemed different, for all that he still wore his silly coat and chewed on his ever-present strip of jerky. It took Margot a moment to realize the change wasn’t in appearance, but in bearing. Dash always gave the impression as a mellow and easygoing, but now he seemed truly relaxed. He tipped his hat at Margot, a grin spreading across his face.

“You ready, Prof?”

“Are you?” Margot countered.

“Hey, for your information  I just closed a pretty big case,” Dash teased. “Paid off my rent and everything. The client was a real bear, though.”

“Was she now?” Margot said, eyebrows raising.

“Yeah, real slave driver. Wouldn’t give me a moment’s rest, told me my magic was rubbish to boot. Can you imagine the indignity?”

“Well it’s true,” Margot said. “You said Westmacott was a mage himself. Didn’t he teach you anything?”

Dash shrugged. “Maybe he was going to someday, but he wanted me to learn detective stuff first. Too many people rely on magic as a crutch and don’t know how to, you know, _investigate_. I got some books, though. Learned some pretty good tricks.”

“You’re going to need to know more than a few tricks. Come on, you big lug. Time for your first lesson.”

Together they left the inn. “Hey, Prof, do you mind if we make a quick pit stop?” Dash asked.

“How long of a pit stop?” Margot asked.

“Not long, promise. I there’s something I want you to see.”

He refused to say any more no matter how much Margot pestered him, and was silent as he led her down the bustling street. Margot knew a lost cause when she saw one, and they fell into a comfortable silence that was only interrupted when a newsboy grabbed Margot by the arm.

“Hey lady, you seen the paper?”

Margot opened her mouth to politely decline, but promptly shut it again when she saw the boy’s cheeky grin, dark eyes glittering with amusement. “Good to see you again, Professor.”

“ _Anansi?_ ” Margot asked.

“Hush. Someone might hear.”

“I thought you had left already for your next show,” Margot said.

“It was worth staying to ask Desdemona one last time to come along,” Anansi said.

“I don’t think she much likes the idea of being pushed into anything,” Margot said, eyes narrowing.

“It’s not like that. I’ve traveled enough to know when someone’s been struck with a wanderlust. I want her away from this pit as much as she wants to leave, but something has been holding her back all this time.” Anansi grinned, the expression looking somehow _wrong_ on the face of such a small child. “But this time she didn’t say no. There’s some business for her to attend to before she can travel, and so I must be patient. Perhaps I’ll have better luck next time. Oh, and do look at page three, darling. I think you'll find it interesting.”

And with that Anansi melted back into the crowd. Margot and Dash shared an astonished look and hurried to the nearest bench. There was nothing of particular interest on the first page of the paper, nor the second, but on the third stood a stark black headline that made Margot gasp.

**Master Arthur Wright, Framed or Fraud?**

“Felix leaked his father’s letters to the press,” Margot said, skimming the article as fast as she could. “Or at least some of them? I don’t see anything here about Abigail.”

“No, but there is the correspondence between him and that dean from the University. What’d you say his name was, the guy with the drath?”

“Master Hughes,” Margot supplied. “You know, I didn’t think Felix had it in him to oust his father.”

“Really?” Dash said.

Margot tore her eyes from the paper to look at him. “You did?”

“Well, there's no love lost between the two of them, and besides, do you remember what Felix said before he fired me? He said he hadn’t gotten drunk since before his sons were born. I think that’s the sign of a man who’s trying to change.” He scratched the back of his head. “Not that I don’t think he’s not a giant blowhard, but I’m not surprised that he’s trying. I think his wife is good for him.”

“Hopefully it works out better for him than it did his parents.”

Margot folded the paper for later inspection, and the two resumed their walk. It didn’t take her long to realize where Dash was taking her, and in a few short minutes they were at the park where she had learned of his past with the Casettis.

“I quit my job,” Dash said suddenly. “I’ve decided to go out on my own.”

“What?!” Margot exclaimed. “Since when?”

“Since I’ve had some time to think. I’ve been clinging so hard to Mr. Westmacott’s name, even though Harris has done everything to drag it through the mud. I can’t do what I need to do there. It’s time for me to start out on my own.” Dash took a deep breath, suddenly nervous. “It helps that I’ve already got my first client as an independent. His purse strings run pretty deep, too.”

Margot followed his line of sight, and did a double take when she saw Felix Wright sitting at a bench with his wife while Desdemona played with her two nephews. Even from a distance Margot could hear James and John’s screams of delight, as well as Desdemona’s clear peal of laughter.

“Trying to be a better person my @$$,” Margot said. “You let Felix hire you? After what happened last time?”

“The money’s good,” Dash said with a shrug. “And it’s worth finding out if Master Wright really did steal research from his students, and if the University let it happen just because he was brilliant. If one Professor got away with it, there’s likely more. That’s not right.”

“Wright has done a lot of things that aren’t right.”

“Heh.” Dash’s grin returned, bigger than ever. “Do you have any idea how hard it was not to make a pun during the big summation? _Together many Wrights make a wrong._ I think it would have ruined the moment.”

Margot scoffed. “It would have done more than that. There would have been a line of people wanting to smack you, starting with me.”

“I’m glad I resisted then. Oh look, there’s Abigail. Why don’t you go over and say hi?”

Margot regarded him suspiciously, but went over to the tree where Abigail Wright sat alone, within watching distance of her family but not participating with them. A notebook was open on her lap, but it looked to have gotten little use as she watched her sister chase her two young nephews.

“May I join you?” Margot said softly.

“Hello, Professor. I don’t mind, so long as you don’t care about the dirt.”

Abigail’s eyes never left James and John, an expression of yearning on her face that she made no attempt to hide as Margot settled in beside her. The ground was cool and dry, with only a few beams of sunlight filtering through the canopy, leaving a dappled pattern that shifted as the breeze swayed gently through the leaves.

“I think Desdemona likes the idea of being an aunt,” Abigail said wistfully. “It suits her.”

“It suits you both,” Margot said.

“James and John were babies the last time I saw them. I used to be so afraid they would cry when I held them, but they never did. I feel like I’ve missed so much.”

“But you’re on speaking terms with your family?” Margot asked.

“Only Felix and Isabella. We…talked. Or at least Felix and Dessy talked while Isabella and I moderated. We’ve come to an agreement: It stops with us. Felix’s children, and any potential children Dessy and I might have, shouldn’t have to suffer like we did.”

“And what does your mother think about that?” Margot asked.

“Mother isn’t speaking to Dessy and I. I don’t know if she ever will.” Abigail looked down at her hands. “But Felix has inherited the estate, and if Mother wants to stay there she has to play by his rules. I don’t know how that’s going to work.”

“It looks like you’re off to a good start,” Margot observed.

“It helps that Felix offered to have one of his business contacts make me false papers,” Abigail said. “That, and agreeing to look into Father’s letters bought quite a bit of goodwill with Dessy.”

“I saw the paper,” Margot said. “That’s quite the scandal Felix’s has invited.”

“It depends on how you look at it. Yes, it reflects poorly on Father and the family name, but I think Felix is going to try to play the long game by building his own reputation as the one who exposed it.”

Margot hummed thoughtfully. “I noticed there was nothing about Master Wright’s theories."

Abigail began picking at her fingernails. “I asked him not to, just like I asked him not to falsify an identity for me. Technically it’s seven years before a missing person is declared legally dead. Dessy doesn’t want anything to do with her family name, but…I’m still a Wright. I want to be known as Abigail Wright.” She looked up at Margot worriedly. “Does that make sense, Professor?”

“It does.”

“I’m not ready for the backlash of when the academic community finds out about Father’s theories,” Abigail admitted, the lines in her face deepening at the very thought. “I have to suffer through coming back to life again, and that’s enough. But maybe…maybe someday.”

She fell silent, and Margot leaned back against the tree. There was something about Abigail that still bothered her, something that Margot felt like she had to say. Maybe Dash knew that, and that’s why he sent her over to speak with her.

“I know we’re basically strangers, and I hope you forgive me if I overstep a boundary, but are you planning to keep translating Elvish romance novels now that you’re a legal person again?”

“For now,” Abigail said. “I truly do enjoy writing, Professor, and it’s something that I came into on my own. There isn’t much about my life where I can say that honestly.”

“That’s fair,” Margot said, “but speaking as a mage, your magic is your own, too. It doesn’t belong to anyone else, least of all your father.”

“That’s what my healer said at the asylum,” Abigail said. “The hurt is still there, Professor. It’s too soon after Father’s death to think…” She cut herself off abruptly, and drawing a shaky breath, she said, “I used to think about what I would do if my magic came back. Did you know, when I was small I asked Father why it was that bread didn’t unbake when put into an icebox even though it baked when put in the oven. He never could come up with a satisfactory answer. Have you ever heard of such a thing, Professor, as unbaking bread?”

“I haven’t,” Margot admitted.

“It’s the most silly, frivolous thing. I knew my father would be irritated if he ever knew, but I’ve never stopped wondering if it could be done. I have lots of questions like that, without answers for any of them. It's maddening, sometimes, living in my own head.”

“All discovery starts with a question, and the courage to try to answer it,” Margot said.

Abigail nodded solemnly. “And even if my magic doesn’t return, you don’t need to be able to cast for theory work." She paused, the line between her eyebrows deepening even farther. "The only thing I’m certain of is that if I did pursue magic again—and that is a considerable _if_ —it wouldn’t be Teleportation. Let someone else take up my father’s torch. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

A rare smile tugged at the corner of Abigail’s lips, and she risked a glance at Margot. “All that being said…if you were looking for someone to proofread your next paper, I would be willing to consider it.”

Margot laughed softly. “I’ll be sure to take you up on that.”

* * *

It was simplest, in the end, for Dash to have his first lesson in magic at the park. It was a nice day, and before Margot could even consider teaching him any spells there were the basics of theory and control that had to be learned. It went better than Margot could have expected, with Dash proving to be a surprisingly quick study. Midway through their lesson they took a break, and Margot saw Felix and Isabella gather their children to leave the park.

Even from a distance the goodbye between Desdemona and Felix was an awkward thing to behold. For all the progress that had been made, it would be a long time before the Wright family was healthy and whole once more.

“I think they’re gonna be okay,” Dash said as Isabella took the hand of one of her boys and Felix the other. They made it maybe ten steps before James (or was it John?) twisted around to wave one last time at Abigail and Desdemona.

“It’s a start,” Margot agreed. “And in the end, I guess that’s all you can ask for.”


End file.
